Passions Prologue
by Dana Keylits
Summary: Before there was Richard Castle, there was someone else, someone special, someone who'd taught Kate how to enjoy her life. Her name was Bette Porter, and in the fall of 1998, they'd spent 15 days together. This story is femSLASH, that means same-gender sexuality. If you are at all uncomfortable with this, please do not read. I do not want to have to wade through homophobic reviews.
1. Prologue

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits**  
**

**Prologue**

Before there was Richard Castle, before there was Josh Davidson, or Tom Demming or Will Sorensen, or any of the parade of unsuitable men she'd dated over the years, there was someone _else_. Someone special. A lover unlike any Kate had ever had before - or would ever have since. A lover who had taught her things about herself, about her body, about the world, about love, and lust and daring and adventure and _fun_!

And, heartbreak.

And, her name was Bette Porter.

And, in the autumn of her freshman year of college, only a few short months before her mother had died an unspeakable death, Kate Beckett had spent 15 days with Bette Porter.

Fifteen glorious, adventurous, _erogenous_ days.

Fifteen days that Kate will _never _forget!

Ever.

* * *

**A/N: This is a prologue to Passions Past. My very first chapter story. You won't need to read Passions Past to enjoy Passions Prologue, but it might aid in giving you some context. I'd encourage you to check it out (if only to pimp out my own fic!). The next chapter will be coming soon...I hope you'll enjoy it. **

**Thanks to Kristy for giving me the kick in the ass I needed to get this started! You're one of a kind! **


	2. We Meet

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits**  
**

* * *

**A/N: Disclaimer: Y'all know these characters aren't mine, right? Kate belongs to Andrew W. Marlowe and Bette belongs to Ilene Chaiken. I'm just taking them out for a little spin! Hope you have as much fun with them as I've had! Enjoy. **

**Wicked thanks to Kristy, who, long ago helped me get my mojo back. I wouldn't be doing this today, if I hadn't had her help back then. So, thanks! You're an awesome chick! **

* * *

**Chapter One: We meet.**

_I walked down the street, unafraid, not worried about muggers or rats or rapists or wayward drunken drivers. I walked down the street, my thoughts on you, my body still humming and pulsing, the apparition of your touch still sending shockwaves down my spine. _

_I walked down the street, my fingers touching my lips, remembering your kiss, remembering the way your silky skin felt against my tentative mouth. I walked down the street, not even paying attention to where I was going, not even caring, my body still chasing your erotic, sensual touch, your commanding measure and rise against me. Your flesh on my mouth, your nipple hardening on my tongue, the way you slid your fingers inside of me, explored me, puppeteered me. _

_I walked down the street, and then I was home. Or, at least, my temporary home, and I had no memory of getting there because my head was still swimming with thoughts of you. _

_I floated up the stairs to my dorm room; thanking the universe I had a single room, not wanting to explain to anyone where I was or with whom. Not that I was ashamed of you, or us, or what we'd done. But, who in their right mind would ever believe that Kate Beckett, straight-A student, hell, straight student, would have a one-night stand with a stranger? And, not just any stranger. A stranger who was older? Who was a professor?_

_Who was a woman?_

_But, it felt like more than a one-night stand to me, and as I undressed in those wee hours of morning, slipping between the cool sheets of my bed, inspired to touch myself in places where I could still feel the ghost of you, I was hoping against hope that it felt that way to you, too. _

* * *

**Day One**

**I** awoke with a start, my eyes squinting against the bright California sun as it streamed through my window like a spotlight on an otherwise darkened stage, and I had to think a minute, my mind a bit fuzzy, my body a bit numb. I lifted the blanket, my unfocused eyes taking in what I already knew to be true.

I was naked.

And, then I remembered, I remembered what had happened last night, and a slow smile curved my lips.

Bette.

Bette Porter happened.

And, as I recalled her curves, and whispers, her touch, her naked trembling body against mine, I smiled like I'd just been kissed for the very first time.

Which, as I skimmed my forefinger along the gentle curve of my lips, remembering what it felt like to have her mouth on mine, her tongue coaxing and merging, teasing and _teaching _mine, I guess I was.

I swung my legs out of bed, sitting up, my mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton, my head a bit light, a bit hazy, but in a good way, in an _exciting _way. I threw on a t-shirt, underwear and a pair of shorts, and crossed to the small wooden desk in the corner of my room to fire up my computer. Wondering if maybe, possibly, Bette had already emailed me. As I waited for the lumbering PC to boot up, I made a pot of coffee using the miniature four-cup pot my parents had bought me before I'd left for school.

Coaxing the paper filter into the basket, my mind wandered to them, to what they would think of this, of _her._

My parents had been rather tolerant of me during my wild-child phase, which I'd finally abandoned by the beginning of my senior year in High School, but how tolerant would they be of _this?_ They were hardly closed-minded, and had always spoken of their support for LGBT civil rights, but how would they feel about their seemingly straight daughter having an affair with a woman?

But, as I thought about it, I had to ask myself the same question.

What did this mean about who I was? And, how did I feel about that? Was I a lesbian? Was I bisexual? I didn't really know. And, as I watched the scalding stream of mocha liquid fill the tiny pot, walls of steam fogging up the glass, I realized that I didn't much care. I didn't need a label, at least not today.

My hands nestled around the warm mug of coffee, I settled into the hard-backed wooden chair, sitting on one leg while the other was planted firmly on the floor. I plopped my elbow on the desk, resting my chin in my hand as I connected to the Internet, the series of beeps and long sounds of static telling me the dial-up was connecting.

"You've got mail," the little man in my computer warned me.

"Thank you," I mumbled. Clicking on the mail icon, holding my breath as I searched for her name among the emails of my inbox.

And then I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. Seeing it but not believing it, and my stomach flopped over. "Holy shit," I mumbled again, clicking on her email.

_Dear Kate,_

_You just left my apartment. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon and you've left. I'm not sure why, maybe I freaked you out? I hope not. _

_I like you. _

_And, I'd like to see you again, if you want? _

_I think we could have a lot of fun together. :-)_

_Call me._

_Bette._

I leaned back in my chair, sipping from my mug, the warm liquid oozing down my throat, calming my nerves, even as scores of butterflies took flight in my stomach.

Should I call her?

Did I want to see her again?

If the exciting sensation radiating from between my legs was any indication, the answer was an unequivocal, _yes._

I quickly retrieved the pants I'd been wearing last night from the heap of clothing in my laundry basket, digging through the pockets for the scrap of paper where she'd hastily written her phone number. Snatching it with one hand, I picked up my cell phone with the other, and punched in her number.

Crossing my fingers, standing in the middle of my room, my eyes fixed on a spot against the wooden door, I counted the rings. One…two…three. I was growing disappointed.

And, then.

_"Hello?"_

I took a breath. "Bette?"

"Yes,"

"It's Kate. Kate Beckett."

I could hear a sigh, a sweet, long, slow, _delicious_ sigh and then, "Kate. I'm so glad you called."


	3. We Meet Again

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Two: We meet again.**

I let the scalding water cascade down my body until it rushed past my feet and down the drain in a soapy clockwise cyclone. It felt good. The water. My body. The daydreams I was having about _her_, of her fingers tripping over my skin, making me _do _things, making me _feel _things. Things I'd never done or felt before.

If it weren't for the woman in the shower stall beside me, I'd be doing some of those things right _now_.

My hair twisted up in the towel that sat balanced on my head, my body wrapped up in the oversized terry cloth bathrobe, I padded back to my dorm room to get ready for my…I wasn't sure what to call it...date, I guess, with Bette.

I felt giddy. Positively like a virgin bride, no, _better_ than a virgin bride, because I'd already _had_ what I thought I might be getting _again_.

Her.

More of _her_.

I picked out my favorite pair of jeans, a silky royal blue t-shirt, and a pair of heels. After applying make up, drying my hair, straightening my hair, I checked myself in the mirror.

God. It was _so_ obvious; written all over my face, my flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, swollen lips, never-ending smile. I was hopeless.

Hopelessly infatuated.

I turned to take in the side view, making a face because I wasn't entirely okay with what I saw, but I didn't have time to change, so I'd just have to deal with it. I grabbed my keys and jacket and headed out the door. I was meeting her at the French Meadow, a restaurant near campus, and I didn't want to be late.

* * *

**I **flashed my fake I.D. at the waitress and she nodded disinterestedly, having performed her perfunctory duty to check my age before pouring the Pinot Grigio into my waiting glass. Bette had already been sitting there, the bottle of wine chilling beside the table, her glass already half drunk.

"I'm notorious for being early," she offered by way of explanation as I took the seat across from her.

She was stunning, her mocha skin glowing in the half-light, her dark eyes sparkling as the yellow flame from the candle danced and skipped across them. Her curly hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her smile, her lips. God, I couldn't stop staring at them.

She smiled, shifting in her seat, a soft chuckle spilling from her lips. She folded her hands in front of her, resting her chin on them, cocking her head. "You'll need to stop doing that, Kate, if we're going to get through dinner."

Her voice was like velvet.

I quirked an eyebrow, "Doing what?" I asked, my eyes rising to meet hers and I blushed.

She laughed, and I melted.

"That. Staring at me. At my lips." She leaned forward. "It makes me want to do dirty things to you."

I'm sure my mouth fell open because she was laughing again, her whole face brightening, her eyes a reflection of wanton desire. She reached across the table, her perfectly manicured fingers tracing a line over the back of my hand. Her voice low, she whispered, "_Very_ dirty things."

I swallowed, I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, rising _there_ too, and I took a sip of my wine, my eyes still locked on hers. I set the glass down.

"I think I'd like that."

* * *

**Day Two**

I stretched and yawned, my eyes blinking open as I oriented myself to time and place. I rolled over.

And, she smiled at me.

"Good morning, Kate" she purred, her face resting softly on the pillow. She was laying on her stomach, her arms tucked beneath her, the sheet covering her from the waist down, and my eyes naturally wandered to the dip in her back, the delicious place where her smooth russet skin rearranged itself into two small dimples. I wanted to kiss them, to dip my tongue into them and taste her salty flesh.

I smiled, rolling to my side, tucking one hand beneath the pillow, the other I let fall in front of me on the sheet. "Good morning," I replied, my voice a hoarse whisper.

She reached out and took my hand with hers, her eyes never leaving mine. She gently caressed my fingers, my palm, the back of my hand, before she raised her head and took my forefinger into her mouth.

I gasped, my belly contracting as she gently sucked, swirling my finger around with her tongue. She must have surely tasted _herself_ on it, because it was _that _finger that had been inside of her last night.

I wiggled beneath the sheets at the thought of it, of her sweaty writhing body beneath me, my fingers deeply inside of her, my thumb coaxing her, drawing the sharp orgasm from her body, feeling it cascade around my hand as she came, my name spilling from her lips over and over as though it were some holy Gregorian chant.

I watched with hooded eyes her slow seduction of my finger, my lips parting, my vision unfocused, my heart speeding up like a runaway freight train, and I sighed.

I had no idea what we were doing. I had no idea where this was going. But, for the first time in my nineteen years, I felt liberated. Free. _Alive._

And, I _liked_ it.


	4. Coming

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Three: Coming.**

She let go of my finger, her lips smacking, her eyes dancing. I couldn't stop looking at her and I found my hand snaking around her neck, my fingers tangled in her hair, and I pulled her towards me.

She came willingly, her eyes searching mine, her lips parting, her breath hot and panting. A barely audible whimper slipping past her lips before her eyes dropped to search _my_ lips.

And, then we kissed.

Her mouth was full and sweet, salty, like vanilla and caviar and something else I couldn't quite figure out, and my eyes rolled back, my lids fluttering shut, as I felt the soft press of her lips against mine, the marriage of which rolled down my body, crashing between my legs like the ocean against a rocky cliff.

Every cell, every fiber, every synapse of my body was screaming at me, a fractured mass of coursing blood and panting breath, quivering, aching, terrifying _need._ And, while on the inside I was screaming and smashing and writhing, on the outside I took my time, my lips moving softly, slowly over hers, my tongue barely peeking out to lave her bottom lip before dancing and weaving with hers in a languid lazy unrehearsed ballet.

She rolled on top of me, pushing the sheet down so our naked bodies pressed against each other, the warmth of her silky flesh igniting a fire in my belly as my hands coursed a trail over her shoulders and upper back, the inward curve of her waist, her smooth, round behind.

Her mouth was like a blessing, a calling, a gift, and she used it to sing to me, her tongue and lips and teeth coordinating a slow seduction, a dizzying kidnapping of my body, my mind, every _single_ part of me.

She whispered into my ear, sweet nothings, dirty something's, my name, over and over, what she wanted to do to me, what she wanted me to do to her, what we might do together.

And, I almost felt out of my body, like I was a silent voyeur, floating above us, watching, observing, _feeling_ every kiss and lick and bite, every touch of her body against mine, her breasts smashing against me, the tickle of her pubic hair on my thigh as she traveled down the column of my neck, her tongue dispatching a hot wet trail in its wake.

A soft buzzing filled my ears and it took me a minute before I realized that it was _me _I was hearing, my own moans and sighs, and _ohhh fucks_, that tumbled past my lips in alternating trend. My fingers weaving through her curly hair as she assaulted me with her lips, my skin feeling like it was ablaze, every skim of her tongue against my hot flesh sending shards of pleasure through me, and it almost _hurt_ it felt so good.

She teased my nipples with her fingers, commanding them to stand at attention, creating concentric circles of goose bumped flesh to appear on my breasts like the wind against an acre of grain, and I arched my back towards her. She'd taken one nipple into her mouth and was sucking it, _hard_, and it was anguish and ecstasy, punishment and reward all rolled into one, long, hard, slow _suck._

She was playing me like an expensive instrument, with the precision and skill of a grand master and I thought for a moment that I might just lose all sense of reality, all sense of _sanity_. How was it even legal for one person to feel _that much_ pleasure? Surely, I would break from it.

She was whispering to me again, that velvety voice of hers filling my head with erotic images of her against me, of her _inside _of me, and I rocked my hips against her, urging her, begging her to relieve the unbearable pressure that had amassed between my legs. She laughed, looking up at me after dipping her tongue into my naval, "Be patient, Kate," she mocked, "All good things…"

Fuck _all good things_. _All good things_ can go straight to _hell_. I wanted her _now_. I needed her _now_. And, I cried out, a string of colorful, garbled, interchangeable words that all meant the same thing rising from my throat and roaring past my lips, filling the morning silence around us, and eliciting a half-growl, half-purr from her.

"Fuck, Bette. Just, _please!" _I begged, my pelvis rising from the bed, finding her, molding to her like we were a pair of nestling magnets, her breast filling the space between my legs like it was the final missing piece of a puzzle.

She mapped my upper body with silky, soft hands, her fingers digging into my flesh, kneading the soft rise of muscle over bone, the ridges and slopes and curves of my torso. And then she dipped her head between my legs, one hand covering the soft down of hair at my pubic bone as her tongue slowly, excruciatingly, parted my inner lips then circled my pounding, _wanting _clit.

An otherworldly moan arose from low in my chest, ascending my throat and spilling from my lips as her tongue worked my clit, slow, lazy, agonizing circles, only occasionally touching the hardened bundle of nerves.

My entire body rocked with her, and she manipulated me with the expertise of an aging Geisha. I grabbed my breasts, squeezing, pulling on my nipples as I threw my head back, my eyes squeezed shut, the powerful force of _her_ causing my body to tremble and shudder.

And, then explode.

The orgasm came fast and hard, and I hadn't expected it yet, none of the normal telltale signs having alerted me that it was approaching. I screamed, not even caring that people passing on the sidewalk below the open window of her tiny apartment would hear me. I screamed and writhed and called her name as ripples of pleasure washed over me, wave after wave after wave, a seemingly never ending sea of pleasure lapping at my shore, over and over, higher and higher.

She held on, her mouth on me, her tongue flat against my clit, coaxing, teasing, aiding every contraction of my orgasm. And then it was over, the spasms receding, becoming tiny aftershocks that then transcended into a calm, soothing sense of serenity, and my body went limp beneath her, and I had no breath.

She crawled up the bed beside me, her face turned towards me on the pillow, her fingertips a feather touch on my cheek. I turned to face her, still trying to gather my breath, slow my heart rate, my body a mass of tingled nerve endings, even the slightest touch to my flesh would be unbearable.

"Kate," she whispered.

"Hmmm," I replied, my lips curling.

"You came."

I laughed. "Yes," I placed my hand over hers. "I came."

**A/N: We are a small group, enjoying this fic, and I hope all of you are taking as much pleasure in reading this story as I am in writing it. Never fear, I will not abandon it, even though fanfic dot net might not be the best forum for hosting this story, I have every intention of completing it. It's an odd one, slash AND** **a crossover, so I understand there will be fewer readers. And, that's okay with me. :-) I'm proud of this story, and I hope that all of you will stay with me for all fifteen days! It should be a fun ride! **

**But, strap on your seat belts, because things only get steamier from here! LOL**

**Thank you to all of you who have read, favorite-ed, followed, and reviewed. I really appreciate your kind words and support. :-)**

**-dk**


	5. Exploring You

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Four: Exploring You.**

I don't know for how long I had dozed, I only know that when I awoke the sun was flooding the tiny apartment with its brightness and warmth and I was alone in the bed. I reached out, my arm moving like a windshield wiper along the silken sheets searching for her, but she was gone, and the apartment was quiet, only the muted sounds of the world bustling by outside filling the spaces around me.

I blinked my eyelids open, my vision hazy and unfocused, my body still humming and pulsing, vibrating, and then I sat up and looked around. The bathroom door stood open, and she wasn't anywhere to be found. I was about to panic until I saw a piece of paper fluttering in the morning breeze on top of her small painted kitchen table. I swung my legs out of bed and walked over to it. The cool hardwood floor felt good against my feet.

I picked up the note, which had been held down by a can of soup, and quickly read it. She was out getting bagels and coffee and would be right back. I set the note back down and looked around. Her apartment was like one living, breathing work of art. The place itself was a crappy little studio, but she'd fixed it up, decorated it, turned it into an urban monument to rival anything hanging at the Met. Everywhere my roaming eyes landed, I saw something interesting and unique to look at.

I suddenly had to pee, _badly_, and I padded into the bathroom, my eyes scanning the walls and shelves and tabletops as I went. There just wasn't any ledge or corner or expanse of space that didn't seem artistically planned, and I sat on the toilet in awe of her eye, her coordination of color and texture, furniture and adornment, both practical and whimsical at the same time.

I wiped, flushed, washed my hands, dried them on a towel, and then looked at my reflection in the mirror above the small freestanding porcelain sink.

I looked happy.

I had always been a happy person, and, other than the normal drama that most teenagers experienced, my growing up had been quite wonderful. My parents loved me, accepted me, nurtured me, allowed me to be who I was, or wanted to be, or thought I was. And, while my mother had a penchant for saying, "I told you so," beneath that, she always wanted me to succeed; even if it was at something she thought I shouldn't or couldn't or wouldn't do.

I have known people who hated their parents. That has never been me. I cherish them. I always will. When they are old and grey and I am fighting with my mother over how to raise my _own_ children, I will still love them with my whole entire being.

For that is how they have _always_ loved me.

But this kind of happy was something new, something different, something that bubbled just below the surface. Perhaps it always had, I didn't know, all I _knew_ was that it had been culled and coaxed and harvested from within me by the expert husbandry of Better Porter.

And, I was _loving_ it!

I wandered around her apartment; she had an eclectic style, much like mine but with a much finer eye. I strolled, still naked, past the bookcase, my fingers thumping along the spines of highbrow titles like _Agnes Grey _by Anne Bronte, _A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthurs Court_ by Mark Twain, and _Anna Kerenina _ by Leo Tolstoy. She also had books like _The Stand _by Stephen King and _Lady Chatterly's Lover _by D.H. Lawrence.

A large hardcover book caught my eye and I plucked it from the shelf, _Dead Man's Chest_ by Richard Castle. I opened the front cover and read the summary. Flipping to the back cover, I was startled by the handsome man smiling back at me, his bright-blue eyes clear and shiny, a dusting of stubble over his chin and upper lip. I stared at the lively photograph of the author, my eyes narrowing, vertical lines forming between my eyebrows, and I felt as though I _knew_ him, as though I _should_ have known him, and something inside of me stirred, surprising me.

I shook my head (_what was that?),_ and opened the book to the first page. I wandered over to her couch, covering my bare flesh with the soft red throw that adorned the back of the sofa, and settled in to read. I had gotten through the first three pages before Bette came bustling in through the front door, her arms full of grocery bags. I watched her look towards the bed, and seeing that it was empty, swinging her head around to find me on the couch.

"There you are," she purred. "I'm glad you're up." She set the groceries on the small kitchen table and then crossed to me, reaching for my hand. I stuck my finger between the pages of the book so as not to lose my place and then stood. "Hi," she said, smiling, her eyes falling to my lips.

"Hi," I smiled back.

She kissed me. Slowly, sweetly, her tongue wandering and curious as it coasted past my lips and into the cavern of my mouth. She tasted like coffee and chocolate, bitter and sweet. When we parted, I looked at her quizzically, "Have you been eating candy?"

She giggled, "Mmm hmm." She glided over to the table, her long legs looking silky and inviting beneath her short skirt, "I picked up some Godiva chocolate. You want a piece?"

I nodded, following her, the blanket draped loosely around my body, my bare feet making soft thumping sounds against the polished hardwood floor. She pulled out a chocolate bar, breaking off a piece, and held it in front of my lips with her thumb and forefinger. I opened my mouth and she slid it onto my tongue, her finger lingering as I wrapped my lips around it, then a slow extraction as I savored the taste of _her_ combined with the sweet chocolate.

I looked at her from beneath the long fan of lashes that framed my eyes, a knowing glint shining at her; I flipped the chocolate in my mouth so it was tucked in one cheek. "You're dangerous," I accused.

She laughed, slipping her finger into her mouth to suck the remnants of the chocolate from her fingertip. She leaned into me, her mouth hot on my ear, "And, I'm only _just_ getting started."

I made a noise that probably sounded like a cross between a laugh and a grunt, because she placed both hands on my cheeks and pulled me in for another kiss, shorter, sharper, harder this time. She pulled away, searching my eyes. "Oh, Kate. We're going to have so much fun together."

"Promise?" I teased, my eyes flickering between hers. My mouth still sucking on the rich chocolate.

She slowly peeled the blanket from around my naked frame, her eyes scanning me deliciously from head to toe, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. I felt a shiver run down my spine, excitement building as she ogled my naked body. She fanned her fingertips, feathering them along my chest, between my breasts, across the ladder of my ribcage, to my abdomen, a sea of goose-bumps rising in their wake. Then she coiled her arm around my waist and pulled me to her, her lips skimming along my jaw, the corner of my mouth, the tip of my nose, before tripping along the shell of my ear; more shockwaves rippling through me. I lost my breath, clumsily dropping the book on the table.

"Promise," she whispered.


	6. Wondrous Things

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Five: Wondrous Things**

**Day Three**

She wanted to take me somewhere, somewhere clever and unique and _underground_, but she wouldn't tell me what it was, or where it was, or what to expect, except the _unexpected_. So, as I sat in my Constitutional Law class, watching the clock, praying for it to move faster, I ruminated over the past two days.

Had it only been two days? Well, really three if you counted the first night we were together, and then this morning, which had been _fast_, and _itself_ unexpected, as we both had early classes; her teaching, I attending, and we didn't really have time for it.

But, we'd made the time. And, as I sat in my chair, listening to a lecture on the relevance of judicial precedence as it applied to Constitutional law, I found my thoughts wandering back in time to the delicious way she'd touched me, stroked me, _fucked_ me this morning.

I sighed dreamily, and then shifted in my seat as I realized a few of my classmates had noticed my, um, _altered_ state.

Bette was an adjunct professor, teaching art appreciation, which seemed fitting, considering her eye for the transformative. This meant that her work hours were as fragmented as my school hours, which actually boded well for us, since late nights weren't usually a problem for either of us, as we both generally (except for on Monday's) had later classes.

It also boded well for us because it meant more time together, more time doing things, hot things, things that I didn't know people could _do._ And, again, of its own accord my mind wandered back, my flesh remembering her touch, the feel of her mouth on my body, on my breasts, my nipples, my throat, my lips; her scent and vibration, her sound, her velvety, silky, smooth _sound _as she whispered dirty secrets and carnal promises, into my ear.

My body hummed with the ghosted memory of her and I had to cross my legs, apply pressure between them, to relieve the building tension, a side effect as I recalled our fast and furious lovemaking from this morning. She was strong, unbelievably strong, and had used her _legs_ to flip me over on the bed, her fingers roughly exploring _inside_ of me, coaxing me, teasing me, until I was writhing and bucking and _coming_ beneath her, my face planted into the mattress as she took me from behind, her velvety voice saying my name, over and over and over again, as though performed with an a-capella chorus, every note perfectly in tune.

"Kate, Kate...Kate!"

I jumped. A hand was waving in front of me. I sat up, refocused my eyes and turned to look at the man next to me.

"Where did you go? You're a million miles away."

"Oh, sorry," I stuttered, hoping my face didn't betray the way my body was tingling beneath the flimsy material of my summer dress. Henry Barnett had been sitting behind me, he was the president of our Nebula 9 club, and a friend. "What did you ask me?" I looked around, the professor had long ago finished his lecture and the other students were gathering their books and backpacks and spilling out of the classroom.

"Are you going to be at the Nebula 9 meeting tonight?"

"Oh, Henry," I rubbed my forehead, having completely forgotten about the meeting. "No, I, ah," I paused, how was I going to explain this? "I have a friend who needs me to do something for her tonight," I half-lied, feeling horribly guilty as his face dropped. I patted the back of his hand, "I'm really sorry. But, I'll be at the next one, I promise."

He nodded, "We're designing our costumes tonight, so, you'll miss an important meeting."

"I trust all of you," I offered. "Just have Penny call me if she needs me to help put the patterns together."

He nodded, then chewed on his bottom lip, regarding me. "What's going on with you?"

My eyebrows shot up, "What do you mean?"

His eyes narrowed, "I dunno," he said as we both stood up and started walking towards the door. "You seem different, you seem," he gestured towards me, "_effervescent_."

* * *

**B**ette picked me up ten minutes early, which was true to form at least according to her. I spilled onto the seat next to her, barely closing the car door before she gathered my face into her hands, her lips plying a deep searching kiss on mine. She dropped one hand to my lap where she traced it up my bare leg, sliding just past my short skirt, her fingertips tapping against my warm skin in harmony with the languid pace of her tongue in my mouth.

I moaned, my hips chasing her hand as she pulled away, and she looked at me from the corner of her eye, her fingertips brushing past her bottom lip. "Hi," she purred.

My belly contracted.

"Hi," I smiled back at her.

* * *

**W**e arrived at a huge building, non-descript no address even to identify it. Bette handed her keys to a tattoo covered woman who'd been leaning against the building, she had piercings all over her face, her brown hair manipulated into sharp spikes, and she wore a chain that went from her front belt loop all the way to her back pocket, protecting an oversized wallet, I assumed.

Bette held my door open for me, her eyes briefly darting to between my legs as I swung them out of the car door. My skirt had still been hiked up, and Bette whispered in my ear that she'd enjoyed the view. I blushed, glancing nervously at the "valet," who seemed completely indifferent to this exchange.

We walked through the windowless door, past a small darkly lit room where a woman was seated on a stool, a clipboard in her hands. Bette flashed her I.D. and the woman waved us through, pushing a button on the wall to unlock the door.

As my eyes adjusted from the bright light outside to the dim light inside, I gasped. The interior of the large room in which we were standing was as ornate and brilliant as the exterior had been humdrum. Dark, rich, hardwood adorned the walls and ceiling, while thick dark wall-to-wall carpet muted the sounds of the people milling about, most of them with drinks in their hands.

As I scanned the room, taking in the sights of the lovely décor, the lovely people, I noticed that many of the couples were of the same gender, although not all. I turned to Bette, my mouth cornered up, "Is this a gay bar?"

She laughed, ordering us drinks from a handsomely dressed twenty-something African American man. "Oh, no, Kate. It's more than that. Just wait," she leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Your mind is going to be blown before the end of the evening." Her breath was warm, inviting, _enticing_, "And, hopefully your _body_, too!"

A thousand tiny shivers raced down my spine and I shuddered, my body leaning towards her like a magnet.

I had noticed a couple in the corner, a man and a woman, well-dressed, young, and wealthy, judging by the clothes they were wearing. The man had his back to me, and I could only see the woman's heel covered feet and the edges of her white dress as he stood in front of her. She had her arms around his waist, and it was obvious they were kissing. After a couple of minutes, he stepped aside to accept the drinks that were being brought to him by a woman who was wearing a tuxedo, clearly custom made because it accentuated her curves in an erotic and unexpected way. I got my first look at the woman and my mouth fell open as soon as I noticed her dress.

It was sheer from the waist up, exposing her breasts, her dark nipples accentuated by the soft translucent fabric. I nudged Bette's arm and gestured towards the woman. Bette laughed softly, her lips parting, exposing a row of brilliantly white teeth. "Oh, Kate." She glanced at the woman and then back at me. "Prepare yourself, you're going to see a lot more of that." She took a sip of her drink and looked around, "Especially when we go into the next room."

"The next room?" I asked, my eyebrows arching with curiosity.

Bette inched closer to me and I lost my breath. She smelled so _good._ Like vanilla and honey. She skimmed her lips over mine and I found myself backing away, feeling self conscious in this room full of beautiful people. Her dark eyes captured mine, they were dancing, compassionate, _trusting_, and I relaxed, falling into her kiss, our bodies vibrating and synchronous, as though we were tethered to each other.

All around us were couples drinking, laughing, kissing, observing, _humming_ with sexual tension and I couldn't help but get swept up by the seductive atmosphere. I leaned into her all wet and wanting, curious and afraid at the same time. Bette could sense it, sense my wonder, and she took me by the hand and towed me towards the curtain covered set of doors across the expansive room.

On the other side of the curtain was a rectangular room with a T-shaped mahogany stage running along the entire length of it. Oversized leather love seats were placed on either side alongside the stage. Small velvet adorned tables, illuminated by gas lamps, were carefully situated between each of the couches.

The room was full of people and it took us a minute to find a seat. Bette led me to a loveseat at the front end of the stage and we sat down just as the lights were dimming. She took my hand in hers, our fingers entwining, and held it up to her lips as she looked at me, a sparkle glinting in the corner of her eye. "Kate, you're gonna love this," she predicted.

And, before I could respond, an eerie mournful sound arose from the large speakers mounted to the wall on either side of the stage, filling the room with an otherworldly mix of chanting voices and booming drums, the sounds reverberating against the walls of my chest cavity, causing my pulse to race as my eyes went wide in the falling darkness.

A single spotlight illuminated the red velvet curtain at the top of the T of the stage, and with a pounding of the drums, the curtain opened and out poured a stream of naked, running, dancing, paint-covered bodies. Men and women, swirling and dancing, some holding long thin ropes of fabric that floated in the air behind them. And with a _whoosh_ and collective gasp from the audience, a pair of men came swooping down from the ceiling, tethered only to small ropes of braided fabric. They seemed to crash into each other, and then spun around and around, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

And, they were kissing.

They spun that way, their legs and arms coiled around each other, their mouths smashed together in a frenzied angry kiss, around and around, faster and faster, rising up to the ceiling before parting and then diving back down, sailing just past each other, as naked men and women danced and pranced all around them.

A booming gunshot from the speakers stopped all of the dancers, and they crashed to the floor, some in a crumpled heap of several bodies, others by themselves, yet others paired off, men and men, women and men, women and women.

The drums started again, slowly, softly, barely audible and the bodies began moving in concert. In front of us were a man and woman, he on top of her, and as the drums increased their tempo and volume, she opened her legs and he slipped between them, his penis erect, her body willing.

I clutched at Bette's hand, not believing what I was seeing at first. I leaned over and whispered, "Are they?" But before I could finish my question, he had entered her, his hips slowly grinding against her, establishing a smooth, easy rhythm. She coiled her legs around his back as he took one nipple into his mouth and sucked.

I looked around at the other dancers, and my mouth fell open as I realized they were all engaged in the same smooth rhythmic act of lovemaking, even the dancers who were alone, using their hands to pleasure themselves in time to the music.

I stared at this wondrous thing before me, unable to judge or think or comprehend what I was witnessing. It was fascinating and titillating and frightening all at the same time and I must have been holding my breath because Bette leaned over, squeezing my hand, her mouth hot on my ear.

"Breathe, Kate. You have to breathe."

**A/N: Stay with me, we're going on an odd ride, but there's a reason for it. Hope you enjoy it! :-) **


	7. Crashing Into You

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits**  
**

**Chapter Six: Crashing Into You**

I watched, wide-eyed, as the couple in front of us made love, their bodies crashing in time to the beating drums, their timing precise and expertly choreographed, as though they'd done this every day for a hundred days or more. I couldn't decide if I thought this was wrong, or kinky, or fascinating, or beautiful, or immoral, or completely natural and pure. Perhaps I thought it was all of those things. I do know that I was captivated, unable to tear my eyes away for even a fraction of a second as the writhing bodies before me reached a crescendo, her screams and his moans joining with the chorus of screams and moans from all of the other dancers, including the men who were hanging from the ceiling, one of them penetrating the other as their bodies floated in midair.

As the dancers plucked each other from the floor, weaving and floating between each other, up and down the long stage, Bette reached over and took my hand, "C'mon. There's more to see."

I let her lead me from the loveseat, and we exited through a set of double doors opposite the doors we had used to enter. I blinked as we entered the smaller room, adjusting to the softer light. The walls were painted a dark red, like dried blood, and two long bars occupied either side of the room. A dance floor occupied the far end of the space, and round tables with velvet-covered chairs were sprinkled throughout the area nearest to us. Tending bar were shirtless men and women, their lower bodies covered only by flowing sheer swaths of fabric that reminded me of Princess Leila's gold bikini from Return of the Jedi, their tops bare and glistening against the half-light. The men were well muscled, the women too, and I couldn't look away, completely fascinated by the ease at which the bartenders moved, as casually as if they were fully clothed.

My eyes darted around the expansive room, noticing that the few servers bustling between tables were also semi-nude, and, as I looked closer, so were some of the patrons.

"I can see you've never been to a place like this before, Kate," Bette whispered, her mouth inches from my ear, her hand taking mine, her fingertips tickling the inside of my palm as it lay upon the table at which we'd just sat. "What do you think?"

I turned to look at her, opening my mouth and then closing it. Then, opening it again. "I think it's a lot to take in," I stammered. I was unsure of what to say. On the one hand I was intrigued, titillated, _turned on_, but on the other? I wasn't sure. Perhaps _overwhelmed, _anxious, confused by how all of this was making me feel, making me _respond_, how it had reduced my thoughts into garbled images of _right _and _wrong, _and I was no longer sure which was which.

She laughed, in that sultry, seductive way she does and I immediately felt it _there, _between my legs. It was a classic, albeit unconventional, case of call and response.

She called.

I _responded_.

I shifted in my seat, my senses flooded with the erotic imagery, the _three dimensional _erotic imagery, that cocooned me - by her, by the lovemaking dancers from the other room, by the nakedness and raw, passionate, and unabashed attitude of the people surrounding us. My head was swimming and I grasped her hand tightly, if only to use her as an anchor to something solid, something familiar; even though _she_ was also the source of my light-headedness.

When one of the semi-nude women approached our table, Bette took care of the order, having undoubtedly noticed that I had been rendered temporarily mute. My thoughts were in riotous disarray, dichotomous, bi-polar and, as I watched her sitting there, looking at me, her eyes shiny and hopeful, playful, _dangerous, _I was suddenly overcome with the desire to shed my remaining uncertainty, forge ahead, bold and brave, take _control_, in this moment, this time, this place, take control and do the unexpected, _be_ unexpected.

She'd ordered drinks and food, I didn't know what, I didn't really care, I only wanted something wet and intoxicating.

_Like her._

Inspired by the kissing couple at the table next to us, perhaps aroused by them, by this _place_, I seized Bette's hand, held it as her eyes grew wide, and then slowly guided it to my inner thigh. She gasped sharply, and I was pleased by her surprise, pleased by my _own_ surprise. I leaned in to capture her mouth, my fingers tickling her throat, my tongue sliding past her lips, over the dangerous ridge of her teeth, meeting her tongue in a daring tango, weaving and dipping, curling. She tasted like chocolate and wine, and she moaned into my mouth, her hand sliding up my leg, mapping a path along my inner thigh, her fingertips just barely brushing against that spot between my legs, that spot that was now throbbing and wanting and _waiting _for her.

I must have tilted my hips towards her, because she slipped one finger beneath the cotton of my underwear, her finger exploring and teasing, sending shockwaves exploding throughout my body. I rocked towards her, feeling positively like I might shatter into a million sharp pieces, jagged and heavy, dangerous.

"You're so _wet_, Kate," she whispered against my mouth, her tongue curling and dipping, laving my bottom lip, her finger circling me; and, in just under 47 seconds, less than a _minute,_ I inexplicably _crashed_ into her.

"Whoa," she breathed.

"Bette," I moaned.

The simultaneous buildup and release of the sudden orgasm had caught us both by surprise, and her breathing grew ragged while mine stopped.

What was I doing? My god, we were in public and she was _making me come_! I pulled away from her kiss, my cheeks crimson, suddenly aware of the sights and sounds, the movement around us, the people walking past us having been, just seconds ago, nothing but a ragged blur of light, suddenly coming into sharp focus, specific relief, and although the room was dimly lit, people could _see_ us.

Some of them were _watching_ us.

And this frightened me, worried me, I felt embarrassed - and _ashamed_.

But, to my surprise, to my favor, it _also_ turned me on.

And, I wanted more.

**A/N: There will be a NC-17 rated companion chapter posted at Extraordinary Lines. It isn't ready to post yet. But, when I post chapter 7, I will be sure to include information at the beginning of that chapter as to where you can find this chapter. It is NOT necessary to read it in order to keep up with the story. Consider it a "deleted scene." You can take it or leave it. :-)**


	8. Sex Dungeons

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Seven: Sex Dungeons**

She took me by the hand and led me from the room, the room where just an hour before I had had a _very_ public orgasm. Where her hands, her lips, her _voice_ had sent me into places unknown, _pleasurable_ places unknown, and I was writhing and whimpering, her hand up my skirt, her fingers on me, _in_ me, her lips soft, feathered against my neck, hurling me into a dizzying state of carnal ecstasy. And, I'd been helpless, bewitched, nothing more than a puppet to her skilled aphrodisiacal ways.

And, so after we'd finished eating, had drained our wine glasses and skipped dessert, she'd towed me through a hidden door and into this darkened room.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see that we were in a long corridor, mahogany doors spaced every twenty feet, on both sides of the corridor, curtained doorways spaced every ten feet between them. I blinked, waiting for her to tell me where we were, what we were doing, and then I noticed the lights, red or green in no particular order, glowing above each doorway. I pointed at them.

"What-?"

She smiled at me, squeezing my hand. "Let me show you."

We walked past the first doorway, a red light glowing above it, and then stopped in front of the curtained entrance just beyond it. She leaned into me, her lips on my ear, her breath warm and inviting, "You never know what you're going to see when you walk through one of these." She opened the curtain. "So, be prepared for anything."

We stepped inside and the heavy curtain fell silently back into place behind us. There was a row of four high backed stools facing what appeared to be a one-way mirror. The room was half-lit by a small 25watt bulb that glowed behind us as we sat down, and velvet curtains hung from the walls on three sides, giving the room a muted, intimate feel.

I hadn't really noticed what was happening on the other side of the glass, but, after settling into my chair, when I finally looked, I turned to Bette, my mouth agape. "Are we supposed to be in here?"

She laughed, in that seductive way she does, that way that always, _always,_ draws me in, and she took my hand. "Of course."

On the other side of the one-way mirror, a small square room housed a large four-poster bed, accompanied by a small black nightstand that was tucked in one corner. On top of _it_ sat a large tiffany lamp that cast colorful shadows over the cream colored walls, and an ambient glow throughout the room.

_And_, over the naked couple who were making love on the bed.

"Bette, what _is_ this place?"

She slid her hand onto my thigh, sending shards of _something_ shooting up my leg. "It's a sex dungeon." She must have seen the confusion skitter across my face, because she smiled, her eyes shining and bright, "It's where people can come and live out their fantasies."

I nodded, turning back to look at the couple, a man and a woman in their thirties, he was dark haired, she was blonde, and, stereotypically big breasted. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, I'd heard of places like this, hell, I'd _fantasized_ about them, but I didn't think they really existed.

My heart rate picked up and I sat there immobile, like a marble statue, barely breathing, thinking, _being_. I was wholly, completely, with every fiber and sinewy muscle of my body, _mesmerized_.

And, I knew, I knew with every breath of my lungs, that at some point on this night, Bette and I would be on the other side of that glass.

And, I couldn't wait.

**A/N: I have posted a companion rated NC-17 chapter at extraordinary lines. The content of this companion chapter is too sexually explicit for the ratings guidelines here. If you would like to read the companion chapter, please go to: www dot extraordinarylines dot com / ?sid=277 Remember to replace the dots with actual dots, and delete the extra spaces (it was necessary to type the link this way because ff dot net does not allow full weblinks).  
**

**It is not necessary to read that chapter in order to move directly on to chapter eight. **


	9. Falling Apart

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Eight: Falling Apart**

_I walked home. _

_I had to get out of there, I had to be by myself, to think and breath, to be, to understand what I was doing, what I was becoming. My head was spinning with conflicting thoughts, my heart with conflicting emotions. You had asked me to stay with you, to sleep in your bed, in your arms, but I wouldn't. I couldn't be near you for I knew that if I were, nothing else would be important. _

_And, I would lose my way. _

_If I hadn't already. _

_So, I walked home, and I felt you following me in your car, making sure I would arrive safely, for which I was both grateful and annoyed. But, you were tempting me, too. Did you know? At every red light I wanted to turn around, slam my fists onto the hood of your car, beg you to forgive me for my uncertainty. _

_But, instead, I stared straight ahead, pretending that I didn't know you were behind me, pretending that I didn't care. _

_But I did. I did care. I cared too much. _

_How, after just three days, have you affected me so deeply? How is it possible that I have become so indifferent to every other part of my life, become so obsessed with you, so bewitched by you, that nothing else mattered? That I was willing to do almost anything? Be almost anything?_

_How had I fallen apart so completely? _

**Day Four**

I wandered back from class, not paying attention to the path I was taking, not caring. My thoughts still wholly consumed with images from last night. Images of what I'd seen, and felt, what I'd _done_, what she had done to _me_, and I was confused.

Horribly confused.

But, I was also intrigued, aroused, and I wanted _more_. More of her, more of _that._

Which only served to compound my confusion, and now my head was pounding, a grating, annoying, thumping pain right at the temples, the kind of headache that wasn't going to go away any time soon.

* * *

I dropped my book bag on the bed, grabbed a Diet Coke out of the mini-fridge, shook a couple of aspirin out of the 500 count bottle on my dresser, and plopped unceremoniously into the chair at my desk. Flipping on the computer, I tossed the aspirin in my mouth and washed them down with a generous swig of soda.

Why was this bothering me so much? What was the big deal? So, we went to a sex dungeon, so we watched beautiful naked people having sex, so, _we_ had sex. So what? We were both adults, we were both consenting; I had _wanted_ to do it. What was the big deal? No one had gotten _hurt_.

The computer having finally gone through it's self-diagnostic as it booted up, I connected to the Internet, and then brought up my web browser. As soon as the little man in my computer told me I had mail, I sat up, the Diet Coke suspended in mid-air as I stared at my computer screen.

There was an email.

From her.

My heart did a sudden leapfrog to my throat and I held my breath as I opened the email.

_Kate,_

_I watched you walk home last night. I could see the weight on your shoulders, the conflict in your heart. I'm so sorry that you're feeling this way. I never wanted that. I just wanted to show you what's out there, the variety and spice and colors of life, how sexuality can be expressed in unique and salacious ways, how your own body can bring you such intensely pure and novel pleasure. _

_That place is a favorite of mine, I'll admit it. It stokes the imagination, fuels the fire that gives human sexuality its intellectual, adventurous, and surprising textures. It seems perfectly normal and healthy to me. But, to the outside observer, I can see how it might seem overwhelming, indecent, even. _

_And, maybe it was too much, too soon, and for that I am profoundly sorry. I truly hope I haven't scared you off. I like you, Kate. I like you a lot. I like being with you, talking to you, in bed and out. _

_You're an extraordinary woman. _

_Please call me. Please call me so we can talk. _

_xo, Bette._

I leaned back in my chair, chewing on my thumbnail, staring at the words on the screen. Just the sight of her name flickering on the glowing monitor stirred that familiar feeling low in my belly, and I _wanted_ her.

What the hell was I supposed to do?


	10. Sailing Away

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Nine: Sailing Away**

_Tempering my feelings for you would be like taming a tsunami. Why had I even bothered to try? It was hopeless, I was helpless, and you were there, looking at me with that wicked smile of yours, that seductive glint in your eye, and I was pulled right back in. _

_It took, what, maybe half a second? _

_And we were all arms and legs, lips and hands, exploring, wanting, touching, your kiss like an amulet, healing me, protecting me, my fear vanquished to the dustier corners of my heart, dormant and dull, where it could do no more damage. _

_ And, I began to understand what you were saying about the textures of life, the subtle transformations that, just your eyes searching mine, could elicit. _

_I was bewitched. _

**Day Five**

We decided to visit the beach, we both had the day off, and although I had plenty of studying to do, I'd put it off so I could be with her. It was a no brainer. Study? Or, Bette? Bette was going to always win in that equation. Besides, there'd be plenty of time to study tomorrow.

We found a spot not too close, but not too far, from the water, and spread the blanket, dumping our bags and books and lotion onto the corners to prevent a sudden gust of wind from taking the blanket on an airborne trip down the beach. Bette had packed a lunch of cheese and fruit and chocolate, and had poured half a bottle of wine into a thermos. We also had plenty of water to prevent our dehydrating under the hot California sun, which was already scorching for so early in the day. We set up a large umbrella for shade and then both flopped onto the blanket, shedding our outer garments.

Bette was modeling a bright orange bikini that hugged her curves like it was painted on. I couldn't stop staring at her. Head to toe, she was fascinating, perfect and sultry, hard and soft in all the right places, as though she had been chiseled from stone and brought to life by a wizards wand, not born of flesh and blood.

"Surely, your parents aren't human," I blurted, my eyes roaming, of their own accord, up and down her body.

She giggled, leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips, her fingers tracing my jawline. She smiled at me. "I could say the same thing about you, Kate." Her finger wandered down my neck, to my clavicle where she traced the hard line of bone beneath flesh. "You wear that bathing suit well."

I shivered, her finger like a feather against my charged skin, sending delicious shards of pleasure in every direction, including _there_.

She held up a bottle of sunscreen, "Will you?" I took the bottle from her outstretched hand and she rearranged herself so her back was exposed to me, she used one sun-kissed hand to hold her hair up. I just sat there for a beat, admiring the lines and curves of her back, the flawless mocha skin that covered muscle and bone, the ripples of her spine, the impeccably round dimples that adorned her flesh just above the line of her bikini.

_Breathe, Kate._ I reminded myself.

She craned her neck, glancing back at me. "Kate?"

"Sorry," I stuttered, blushing. I squeezed the creamy white lotion from the bronze bottle, giggling at the rude sounds the pockets of air in the cavern of plastic emitted, and spread it around my hands, and then I gently, slowly, rubbed it into her shoulders. Her skin was warm and soft and I couldn't help myself, I leaned in and brushed my lips along the back of her neck, my tongue darting out to taste her salty flesh. She shivered, thousands of goose bumps rising along her erstwhile smooth skin and I smiled, knowing _my_ lips had done that.

She leaned slightly back, a soft '_Mmmmm'_ rising up her throat, and I smothered the rest of her back with sunscreen, my fingers dipping beneath the straps of her bikini, and then curving mischievously around to her front, just barely tickling the sides of her rounded breasts as they remained captive in the bikini top. She arched her back suddenly, a gust of air rushing past her lips before she turned and grinned at me, wagging her finger. "Naughty," she playfully admonished.

I smiled stupidly, shrugging my shoulders. "Sorry, couldn't help it."

She rotated back around to face me and took the bottle from my hands. She circled her finger in an upside down corkscrew motion. "Turn around," she commanded. "I'll do _your_ back, now."

I did as I was told, gathering my long hair in one hand and holding it on top of my head. Her hands were gentle and cool, despite the hot day, and she smoothed the aromatic lotion over my waiting flesh, her fingers darting beneath the green straps of my bikini top. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation of _her _skin on _my_ skin, all the delicious _feels,_ when she snaked her hand around to my left side, the side hidden from public view by the umbrella, sneaking beneath the taut fabric of my bikini and massaging my breast, her fingers playfully pinching and tugging at my nipple, its immediate erection betraying the constant arousal that always hummed just beneath the surface whenever she was around. My eyes flew open and I gasped, looking to my right to see if anyone had seen. "Bette!" I admonished, though not harshly.

She laughed, withdrawing her hand and placing it obediently back in her lap. "You started it," she reminded.

Oh, yeah. I kinda had.

We finished applying sunscreen and I tossed the bottle back in the open beach bag. Bette folded the umbrella so we could get the full benefit of the sun, and we lay back on the blanket, beside each other, our faces raised to the cloudless blue sky. Bette's hand was beside me, barely touching, her pinky finger crossed over mine and it took everything in me not to just roll over on top of her, rip her bathing suit from her body, touch her in forbidden places.

Instead, I dozed off, my mind sailing to places faraway, happy, peaceful, romantic places, no doubt inspired by the seductress currently laying to my right.

And, I am quite sure that as I slept, I was smiling.

**A/N: Dedicating this chapter to KJ on her hard day. Hope this little bit of summer brightens your day. ;-)**


	11. Falling in Love

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Ten: Falling in Love**

**I** awoke with a start, not fully aware of where I was or what I was doing, and then, blinking my eyes open, shielding them with one hand against the blazing sun, I realized I was still on the beach.

And, I was wet.

Bette was standing over me, shaking her hair, salty ocean water falling like raindrops onto my tepid skin. I cried out, raising my hands to fend off the onslaught of cool water, and Bette giggled.

"Doesn't that feel good?" She asked, sitting down beside me, drying the excess water from her hair with a brightly striped beach towel.

I sat up, smoothing the drops of water over my skin. I nodded. "Yes."

"You should go cool off, Kate. Are you hungry yet?"

I was.

But, not for food.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked, raising my face to the sun to see how it had changed position.

"About forty-five minutes."

"Ah." I poked the skin on my thighs, it had a reddish tint and I was grateful Bette woke me when she did. I wasn't keen on the idea of resembling a lobster. "I think I'll take a quick dip." I gestured at the water with my thumb, "Want to join me?"

"I was just in there, you go ahead." She pulled the cooler and basket of food towards her. "I'll get lunch ready."

The beach was surprisingly empty, perhaps the benefit of coming here on a workday, and I only had to weave my way through a small patch of giggling co-eds before hitting the chilly water. I dove in head-first through the crashing wave that rose up to greet me, letting the powerful surf carry me out.

The water felt delicious, instantly cooling me as I dove beneath the surface, my body twisting and rolling in the clear blue ocean, my limbs feeling weightless and free. When I came up for air, I spun around to face the beach, my legs kicking beneath me, my arms sweeping just below the surface in an arc, keeping my buoyant, and I watched her as she unpacked the cooler and basket. She was practically a dot on the beach, but I knew it was her. I'd know her a mile away. She looked up and waved at me, and my heart skipped a beat. I waved back.

Was it possible to fall in love in only five days?

I dove below the water again, cocooned by its soothing properties, its muted, otherworldly and almost lyrical sounds, and, when I opened my eyes, murky bluish hues. If not for the need for oxygen, and _her,_ I could have stayed down there forever, a ghostly white mermaid in a sea of blues and browns, healed, whole, happy.

As I broke the surface, my lungs screaming for air, everything else screaming for _her, _I knew the answer.

Yes, it _was_ possible to fall in love in just five days.

* * *

**B**ack on the blanket, underneath the now raised umbrella, the seawater on my flesh having quickly evaporated from the radiating sun, leaving tiny white dots of salt speckled on my tanning skin, she handed me a tumbler of wine and a slice of cheese. She held a grape in front of my mouth and told me to open, which I dutifully did.

As I bit down, piercing the thin skin of the fruit, I inadvertently sent a shower of grape juice trickling in tiny rivers down my chin and dotted over her fingers, and when I reached for a napkin, she leaned over, her eyes daring me to pull away, and slowly licked the nectar from my me, her tongue skimming my bottom lip and then darting seductively into my mouth as we kissed.

I didn't care if anyone saw us, I wasn't even _aware_ of anyone around us, because every time she kissed me, every time she _threatened_ to kiss me, the rest of the world became nothing more than a chaotic blur and it was just us. She and I. Alone in our very own love bubble.

Before she could pull away, feeling emboldened, I reached out and snatched her hand, my fingers curling around her wrist. My eyes never leaving hers, I pulled one finger into my mouth and sucked, savoring the remnants of the grape juice, tasting the wine and cheese there, too. She watched me with hooded eyes, a smile bowing one corner of her mouth. Then I let her wrist go and raised the glass to my lips, taking another long sip of the intoxicating white wine.

She grinned at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and then she leaned back, using one palm to brace herself against the blanket. "Brave, Kate."

I laughed.

We ate our lunch in an almost melancholy silence (except neither of us was feeling particularly melancholy), stopping occasionally to feed one another, flirting with the boundaries of appropriate public behavior, but not really caring very much if we crossed them.

When we'd packed away the leftovers, we stretched out beneath the umbrella, each of us pulling out our books to read. She was reading some highbrow tome about art, I was reading _Dead Man's Chest_ by Richard Castle, the mystery novel I'd found on Bette's bookcase. It was actually pretty good, I really liked his writing style, and for some inexplicable reason I was drawn to him. Not just to the story, which was good, but to _him._ I'd done a Yahoo search on him, finding all kinds of interesting tidbits; he was recently divorced and was raising his three year-old daughter, but he also had a reputation as a ladies man, which was all kinds of yuck, but still, somehow, there was _something_ about him that sucked me in like a Hoover Deluxe- I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Each time I opened the book to read a chapter, I would inevitably flip to the back flap and stare at his picture, mesmerized like he was Svengali or something, and invariably something inside of me always _stirred_. He was an attractive man, there was no doubt about it, but _why_ I was so intrigued by him was past my understanding.

Today was no different, and Bette had noticed. "You like him."

I side-glanced at her, the book open to Castle's picture as it rested in my lap. "Huh?"

She pointed at his picture. "Richard Castle." She smiled, tucking one hand beneath her head. She was currently reclined against a beach pillow she'd had packed in her bag. "You like him. He's attractive."

"He's," I looked back at the glossy color photograph of the smiling author. "He's not bad," I admitted, returning the novel to the place where my bookmark was nestled between two pages. "I like the book," I stammered, glancing back at her. She was smirking at me, an amused glint in her eye.

"It's okay, Kate. To be attracted to him. I am under no pretense that you've _defined_ anything about yourself just because you're with me."

"What about _you_?" I asked, slipping my finger between the pages and closing the book. "Have you been with any men?"

She nodded. "But not for a long while. I'm a lesbian, Kate. True blue. Once I discovered _that_, I had no reason to be with men anymore. I had nothing to try to prove, no one to try and fool." She laughed. "Which had mainly been _myself_, anyway."

"I see," I said, unsure of what _else_ to say.

"But, I'm okay with whatever, however, you define yourself. You don't need to make any declarations on my account, and you don't need to hide, or feel ashamed, of what is an obvious attraction to men."

"Man," I corrected.

She raised an eyebrow.

I held up the book by way of explanation.

"Ah," she said.

We stared at each other for a long time, and then I set the book down and laid on my side, propped up by my elbow, inching closer to her. I smoothed my finger along her lower lip, my eyes darting there as the lump rose in my throat (and something _else_ rose _somewhere_ else), and I whispered, "I may find him attractive, but I am completely and utterly _bewitched_ by you." I caressed her cheek with the back of my fingers and then brought my lips to hers, gentle, tentative, unsure_, _until her hand came around to the back of my head, her fingers tangling in my hair, and she pulled me towards her, her tongue slipping between my lips in an unbridled exploration, curious and coaxing, unrelenting.

And, it wasn't until we heard the wolf whistle aimed at us by the teenage boy walking past, that we parted, breathless and aroused, wanting _more._

_Much_ more.


	12. Seduction

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Eleven: Seduction**

She'd rolled onto her tummy and untied her bikini top, and _that_ was my undoing.

We'd long ago put away the umbrella and our books, opting for the sun's warming rays and an afternoon nap instead. After lathering more sunscreen on each other (with _deviously_ wandering hands), I'd reclined on my back, she on her stomach.

But, now, she was _topless_. I mean, she was lying on _top_ of her bikini, but it wasn't _attached_ to her anymore.

And, it was driving me crazy.

My belly contracted as my thoughts turned to the forbidden things that I wanted to do to her, where I wanted to touch her, how I wanted to kiss her, and lick her, and suck her, and _bite_ her. And, I had to close my eyes because the images racing on an infernal loop in my head were so overwhelming that it was necessary to block out the incongruous sights around me.

Until, I opened one eye and peeked at her again, that is.

Her head was turned away from me, her wavy black hair swept up in a messy bun, her arms resting above her in an interrupted circle. Her fingers were gently tapping against the blanket, evidently in time to some silent score that only she could hear. My eyes, of their own disobedient accord, traveled to the smooth, perfect curve of her breast and I wanted to reach out and touch it, slide my finger beneath her body, wishing that I could lean in and take the delicious chocolate drop nipple that I knew was smashed against the blanket, into my mouth, roll it around my tongue, nibble at it with my teeth, and then _suck_.

Hard.

Instead, I stared at her mutely, my fingers wandering to the _wanting_ place between my legs, shielded from public view by my bent knees and the towel that I had had the good sense to drape across my pelvis.

I needed to relieve the ache, if only for just for a second.

I closed my eyes, imagining it was _her_ graceful hand gliding over my bathing suit, pressing against my soft mound, tempering the throbbing and pulsing need that was growing exponentially by the second. I imagined her finger slipping beneath the wet fabric, finding my hardened bundle of nerves, sliding lower, _entering_ me with the hushed cunning of a thief at midnight.

When I opened my eyes to look at her again, I was startled to find her staring at me, a wicked smile on her face.

She'd seen me. She knew _exactly_ what I was doing.

And, surely, she knew _why._

She opened her mouth, her smile growing wider, revealing a flawless row of brilliantly white teeth. "Kate," she whispered.

A shard of pleasure so random, so sharp, it almost _hurt_, exploded through my belly and all I could do was exhale.

_Slowly_.

I blinked. And, then I watched her, my lips parted, my breath panting, as she took the pillow and held it in front of her. With a quirk of her eyebrow she slowly raised herself onto her elbows, her breasts coming off the blanket, exposed to me, her nipples soft and flaccid, just waiting for my tongue, my fingers, to coax them to life.

I couldn't breathe, or think, or speak. I just stared at her beauty, her swollen perfect breasts, her rounded mouth, her mocha skin. I might even have been whimpering, I'm not entirely certain because all I could hear in that space and time were the red and white cells in my blood rushing past my ears as they coursed through my veins on their way to, or from, my pounding heart.

Perhaps _they_ were whimpering too.

I watched as thousands of goose-bumps rippled on her flesh like acres of growing wheat waving against an autumn breeze, and her nipples started to pucker and stiffen. My gaze rose to hers, looking at her from behind the fan of lashes that framed my hazel eyes, and I could see that she was moved by my temporary paralysis.

"Kate," she whispered again, her eyes glancing at my hand. The one between my legs. The one that was now circling my clit from over the polyester of my suit, which I could feel, even from behind the barrier of fabric, was hard, _ready_, aroused.

"I-, ah," was all I could offer. She looked around, the beach was still populated, but no one seemed to be looking in our direction, and the group of Frisbee yielding boys who had catcalled at us earlier were gone. She inched closer to me and then snaked her hand past my bare belly, covering my hand, pressing against it beneath the safety of the towel that was preventing us from performing an adult oriented show right there on the beach. I could feel her bare breast as it pushed against my shoulder, and a violent shudder rippled through me.

She put her lips to my ear. "Let me," she instructed, her breath warm and seductive. I pulled my hand away.

She dove beneath my bathing suit, her fingers spreading my outer lips and expertly sliding flat against my wet, pulsing clit, circling quickly. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I was afraid I might scream, so unexpected, so sharp, was the sensation of her fingertips against me.

It took only fifty-three seconds.

Fifty-three seconds and I was riding the wave, crashing against her hand, my hips circling, her name an unspoken whisper stuck in my throat. She kept her hand there, patiently riding out the aftershocks of my sudden orgasm, her breaths quick and short against my ear, her nipple hard on my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to gaze at her, my pupils dilated, my vision hazy. I didn't need to say or do anything, she knew my body now, knew what she had to do, knew how to bring me down, gently, calmly, with care and attention. And, as she pulled her hand away, her fingers gently tripping along my infused flesh, I straightened my legs in front of me and stretched, mewling like a newborn kitten.

But, I wasn't satiated. Not in the least, and she could see it in my eyes, the hunger, the _want,_ and it made her blush. I dropped my gaze to her teardrop breast, the dark berry of her nipple, and my lips parted involuntarily, whispering, "_I want._"

She raised an eyebrow, smiling at me with a bewitching ascent of her lips. "What, Kate?" She purred. "What do you want?"


	13. Hang On

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Twelve: Hang On**

_You, Bette, I wanted you. _

_Surely, you knew that by now. _

_Couldn't you see by the way my body naturally tipped towards you, like a magnet to metal, a moth to flame, like there was something in me that used to be attached to something in you, and it was desperately trying to reassert itself? _

_It must be that we had been together in a previous life. Husband and wife, or forbidden lovers of the same gender, denied their right to be together by fear and oppressive mores, required to meet in secret, behind closed doors, hidden sanctuaries, our outers shells merely a façade of our truest authentic orientation. _

_But now, during this time, as our planet spun on its axis at a dizzying speed, hurling in an endless loop around the sun at an even greater dizzying speed, it didn't matter. Because, what I was feeling for you transcended all of the outer garments, fabric or flesh, that defined who we were. As people, as lovers, as ancient souls finding each other again. _

_And, I could only live for today. This moment. This time. This place. _

_Nothing else mattered._

* * *

**Day Six**

She rolled my nipple expertly between her thumb and forefinger and it immediately rose and stiffened, a reward of her expert ministrations. When she'd replaced her _fingers_ with her _mouth_, I became a writhing mass of blood and flesh and bones and muscle, helpless and whimpering, my body practically convulsing with need, impatient and furious, her name roaring past my lips as she teased and tormented me.

As she _waited_.

She liked me like this.

Cuffed to her bed.

Bound by expensive leather and luxurious silk.

She captured my nipple between her teeth, her hands mapping my upper body, her thigh between my legs, and then she let go, pulling the nipple as far as it would go before releasing it, soothing the inevitable burn with her tongue.

She looked into my eyes. "You're too impatient, Kate," she accused, her voice like velvet, her tone reminding me of a purring indolent cat.

I bucked against her as she straddled me, my hips rising and falling against the firm mattress, the sheet below me already wet from my arousal. "God!" I finally screamed. "Bette!"

She smiled in that wicked, wicked, way she does, her teeth bright beneath crimson lips and her obsidian eyes danced with amusement. "Okay, Kate," she soothed. "Okay."

She crawled down my body, slinking like an exotic cat, her lips traveling a wet path from the column of my throat, to the harsh angles of my collarbone, to my breasts, my nipples, where she lingered, sucking and nibbling, swirling the rigid pink gumdrop around her tongue, to the soft space between my ribcage, the dip in my naval, until she reached the apex of my thighs and she stopped, looking up at me, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

I thought I might actually pass out.

I gazed at her with hazy, unfocused eyes. She was a blurry vision of sun-kissed flesh, midnight hair that fell in soft curls around her face, and her face, God, it was seductive and sultry and I was _hypnotized_.

With a flash of witchcraft, she smiled at me, looking at me from beneath the dark fan of lashes that framed her mischievous eyes, and then she dipped between my legs, her gaze never leaving mine, and stroked my inflamed sex with the tip of her tongue.

Needles of pleasure sliced through me, vulgar words spilling from my mouth as she slipped her tongue inside of me, lapping up my inner juices, and then withdrawing to stroke me again, rising up through my wet inner folds to the swollen nub, raw, aching, throbbing in anticipation of her dangerous intentions.

I thought I might break apart, shatter into a million sharp pieces, the pleasure, so sinfully painful, almost too much to bear. And, I fought against my restraints, my ankles tied with silk, my wrists with leather.

She moaned against me, and the vibration from her voice rippled through my sex like a cheap toy. She had flattened her tongue, quickly rotating it from side to side, and I _soared_. Higher and higher, circling like a majestic eagle, waiting, wanting, my hips bucking wildly, and she flattened one palm against the downy hair of my pelvis to hold me still.

And, then she stopped. And, looked at me.

I lifted my head, my eyelids heavy, and peered at her through narrowed slits. "Bette," I whispered. "Please!"

She knelt between my legs, rising up, her full naked breasts swelling, their dark berry nipples puckered and erect. She smiled in that impious way she does, and wagged one finger.

"Not yet, Kate."

I threw my head against the pillow, my breasts heaving, and rocked my hips back and forth, trying to make contact with her. The aching between my legs was unbearable. "Fuck! No. Bette, don't stop." I gasped. "Please!"

This was _torture_, sadistic, evil, _sick_ torture.

And, she was loving it.

"Use your safe word, Kate. If you really can't take it. Use your safe word and I'll make you come _right_ _now_."

_Fuck!_ What was my safe word? I'd forgotten. Wait, it was a piece of fruit. Pears? Apples? No, it was Orange! I opened my mouth to shout at her, imagining the word, carried by longing and impatience, a scorching fire upon my tongue, exploding from my mouth, the sheer force of it blowing her backwards and off the bed, just like you'd see on Saturday morning cartoons.

If they were rated NC-17.

I glanced at her again, she was still staring at me, her mouth curved into a devilish smirk. My body was on fire, I was _so_ ready to come, to shatter, to crash against her probing, luscious mouth, I just needed _one more stroke_, and I'd fly over that cliff.

The words rushed past my mouth like the Kingda Ka, and I _roared_.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

She laughed, her eyes luminous against the moonlight, her satanic, twisted enjoyment of my carnal agony dripping from her lips as she explained what was next.

And, then she reached behind her and grabbed a blindfold, holding it up.

"Do you trust me, Kate?"


	14. Dessert

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Thirteen: Dessert**

Blinded by the smooth press of silken fabric against my eyes, my other senses took over and I was soon assaulted by a cacophony of scents (vanilla, cherry, the musky smell of _sex_) and sounds (the whistling of the evening breeze gusting through the open crack in her window), and tactile sensations (the pinpricks of quivering flesh as I waited, patiently, achingly, longingly, _waited _for her exotic touch).

I became keenly aware of her movements, the slightest random shift of her body, her hands, even her breath. And as I tried to orient myself, imagine where she was, I felt the mattress dip beside me, then, another depression of the bed on my other side.

She was straddling me.

She adjusted my bondage, the erotic resonance of leather and metal echoing in my ears as she tightened my restraints.

First the left wrist. _Thwap!_ Then, the right. _Thwap!_

She had me bound tightly enough that I could barely move, but not so tightly that it restricted the circulation of blood to my captured hands.

I imagined her towering above me, her raven hair spilling loosely around her shoulders, her swollen lips, the glistening vee at the base of her neck, the swell of her breasts and chocolate drop nipples, the powerful, shapely, mocha skinned legs that straddled me.

And, the delicious, inviting mound of curly hair that welcomed me to her warmest parts.

I wiggled my hips, the throbbing between my legs reaching a critical level, and I _begged_ her for relief.

I could hear her smile.

"Open your mouth," she purred, her voice like velvet.

I opened, tilting my head, waiting.

I sensed the soft vibration of her body as she hovered inches above me, smelling sweetly of vanilla and sugar. My thoughts were thrown into chaos as the heat rose on my cheeks, my breath halting and heavy, my pulse racing, the blood coursing through my veins like cars on an endless racetrack.

And, then I felt it. The soft press of her breast at my eager lips.

I arced upwards, my open mouth seeking her like a baby bird waiting to be fed, and I hungrily lured her nipple into my mouth, sucking and licking, rewarded by its rise and hardening against my tongue and the joyful sigh that tumbled past her lips. She tasted salty and sweet like honey and sea salt, and I savored with delight the texture and taste of her as my tongue laved her puckered flesh.

And, then she withdrew. Her breast torn from my mouth, my lips smacking as her nipple popped out. I chased her, a soft whimper rising from my throat.

But, she was gone.

Suddenly she was at my ankles, releasing them, the soft, but securely bound, fabric tickling my calves as she untied the scarves. As soon as my legs were free, I squeezed my thigh's together, trying to temper the throbbing ache that had been relentlessly pounding between my legs.

She laughed again, that wanton giggle that told me she was enjoying my torment. I felt her leave the bed, and heard a rustling sound, then the mattress dipped again and she knelt by my lower legs.

"Open your legs, Kate."

I did as I was told, and her hands ran up my inner thighs, a trail of goose-bumps rising in their wake. Then, using her knees, she spread my legs apart even further. My heart raced as I anticipated what might come next.

She didn't make me wait for long, and I felt something cold and unyielding nudge at my entrance. She whispered in my ear. "I'm going to enter you now, Kate. Okay?"

I nodded, unable to locate the words required for a verbal response.

"Do you remember your safe word?"

I nodded again. _Oranges._

"Ready?"

Nod.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I hissed, my voice hoarse and unrecognizable, my hips bucking against the hard synthetic of what was undoubtedly a rubber dildo.

She laughed again. "I'm going to _fuck_ you, Kate, until you _come_."

I bit my lip, groaning with anticipation. "Yes, God, Bette." I gasped. "Yes."

She thrust into me, the dildo forcing it's way deep into my body, and I immediately cried out, unprepared for the sudden assault in spite of her warning. She slowly eased out, her body heavy above me, her lips on my collarbone.

"Are you okay?" She asked, her voice a commanding whisper but laced with genuine concern.

"Yeah," I answered. "Yes. Just, wasn't expecting..." she was easing back in as I answered her, her hips slow, the dildo sliding gracefully inside of me, my body stretching and expanding to accommodate it. "...that much, that big, so, ahhhh, soon."

"Did it hurt you?"

"No," I replied, savoring the languid pace she was setting, my body adjusting and obliging the thick dildo.

"Good," she hissed, pulling out, pausing, and then pounding into me again.

Hard.

I moaned, my fingers curling into tight fists, leaving crescent shaped indents into my palms as I coiled my legs around her middle, feeling the hard strap of leather that was attached to her waist against my calves.

My mind spinning with carnal, disorganized thoughts, my hands fighting against the unyielding leather, I begged her to take off the blindfold. I needed to _see_ her, I wanted to _watch _her.

But she ignored my pleas, continuing her almost excruciatingly languid pace, her breasts slick and moving against mine, her hands everywhere, her mouth hot and wanton, exploring every inch of my tepid flesh, landing on the glistening column of my throat, and I threw my head back and _roared_!

"Bette! God!"

She purred, laughing, moaning, sighing with obvious delight, as I writhed beneath her. She took one nipple into her mouth, sucking in rhythm to her quickening thrusts in and out of me.

And, in.

And, out.

And it wasn't long before I'd forgotten about my restraints, forgotten about my desire to watch, forgotten about anything that wasn't touching me, coaxing me, teasing me, leading me towards orgasm.

The blood rushed to my aching sex, pounding, thudding, I could almost hear it. And, with every increased thrust of the dildo inside of me, I was closer and closer to the sweet release I'd been craving from the moment she'd asked me, her lips curled into a dare, "Have you ever been tied up, Kate?"

Ascending new heights of erotic pleasure that most certainly were considered a mortal sin by the righteous and most pious among us, I arched my back, my breasts heaving, her mouth surrounding my nipple, sealing it with supple but firm lips.

And, I soared.

A sudden rush of dirty words and tawdry secrets spilled uncontrollably past my lips as the orgasm overtook me. A tsunami of unbelievable pleasure, so powerful, so sharp and fast and wholly consuming, it practically _hurt. _And, for the briefest of moments I had lost all sense of _personhood_, acting on the most basic of carnal animalistic instincts instead.

Bette expertly coaxed every drop of ecstasy from me, my inner muscles tightening and releasing around the tractable dildo, my body arcing against hers. the aftershocks hitting me in unexpected intervals.

I feared I would shatter, come apart right there, blind, mute, barely able to breathe, a sloppy mass of writhing flesh and blood, bone and muscle, and I once again begged for her to release my eyes from their darkened confinement, so desperately did I want to _see_ her.

But she laughed again, that smooth, enchanting, _wicked_ laugh, and she eased the dildo out of me. It was wet and warm from having been inside of me, and I could feel its firmness against the inner thigh of my left leg.

And then it was gone. And, so was she.

Something cool and soft pushed against my lips, and juice ran down my chin. I opened my mouth to take it in, the strawberry so sweet and invigorating, as if I were tasting it for the very first time. Her breath infused my skin, and then her tongue licked the juice clean in one, long, elongated stroke.

I ached.

Every part of me.

And, I craved more and more of these wonderful sensations; these daring fleshly experiences that I didn't even know were _possible_ for me.

"Bette," I whispered, feeling enlivened by the sweet strawberry, its succulent juice cooling the inside of my parched mouth, drizzling down my throat. "Bette, please."

"Not yet," she whispered, her mouth hot against my ear. "I have plans for you, Kate."


	15. Born Again

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Fourteen: Born Again**

**Day Seven**

_People talked about being born again, and I never understood what that really meant. Did it mean they felt they had to metaphorically die, and then rise from the ashes like a Phoenix? That they'd abdicated their former life, renounced their un-pious and worldly goods for some greater calling? Some bigger life? Or, did it simply mean that they'd had some kind of awesome, earth shattering experience that had left them questioning who they were, what their lives, until that moment, had meant? _

_I didn't know._

_Before I met you, Bette, I had had no idea of the varied pleasures my body could bring me, the sense of connectedness I could have with another person through physical intimacy. You have taught me that, Bette. You've taught me that life has so many opportunities for joy, and we shouldn't allow ourselves to get bogged down by the rules and mores of a rigid society only to deny ourselves that joy in order to fit in with the uneasy masses._

_You taught me that it was okay to enjoy my body, to enjoy your body, to experience sexual desire and pleasure, knowing that it was a gift to be cherished, to be nourished, to be shared. _

_And, wow, haven't we had fun? Sharing it, I mean? _

_As I sit in my dorm room now, I should be preparing for an exam. Instead, I'm remembering the flood of polyphonic sensations that had washed over me as I lay bound to your bed, blindfolded, vulnerable, naked, open, panting, wanting, wishing, begging. _

_Fucking._

_And, I became aroused just thinking about you. _

_So much so that I took out the dildo you bought me at the sex dungeon and slipped out of my clothes, preparing for a lover who was, at the moment, only in my mind. I turned out the lights, crawled beneath the warm covers of my twin bed, and touched myself._

_I was already wet, warm, my body vibrating with the sensual thoughts of what you'd done to me, your soft kisses, seductive caresses, the slide of your finger in and out of me, circling my clit, coaxing me to a second orgasm, and then a third, and then soothing me as I came down. _

_The blindfold coming off and you, above me, in all of your naked glory, your body glistening in the half-light, radiant, sparkling, flawless, as though made of clay and stone and not flesh and blood. The constant whispers, dangerous and wanton, sinful, carnal, and your voice, your velvety, luscious feminine voice sending currents of joy to every part of me, every corner and crevice and dark, hidden place, and, I knew that I was no longer the same person I had been when I'd shown up at your place, smiling and naïve, unaware of the heights, the excruciating, dizzying heights, that you would take me. _

_And, the way you said my name, "Kate," as though it were a song, or a prayer, or a sacred eternal vow. _

_And so, in the low light of my digital alarm clock, I explored my own body, teasing myself, pinching myself, arousing myself. And, you were there, too, in my mind, my heart, my aching unquenching need. You permeated every cell and fiber, my desire for you oozing from every pore of my naked infused flesh. And, at my crescendo, your name a breathless whisper upon my lips, I opened my eyes, and I swear to almighty God in heaven that I could see you above me. _

_And, I was born again. _


	16. You've Got Mail

**Passions Prologue**

By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Fifteen: You've Got Mail**

**Day Eight**

I was sleeping in for the first time in weeks and of course the phone just _had_ to ring, it's ear-piercing, '_da-da-da-da-da,'_ echoing loudly from the cinderblock walls. I reached on the floor beneath me, my eyes still closed, my fingers splayed out, and instead of picking the damn thing up I sent it spinning beneath my bed.

I groaned.

Yesterday was the first day I'd not had any time with Bette, unless you counted the time we'd spent on the phone. Or, the time she'd been in my _mind_. In my fantasies. _Doing_ things to me.

Sinful things.

I smiled, remembering, a spark of desire needling me _there_, a twinge, the ghosted memory of her lips on my flesh, a slight flushing of my cheeks.

Mmmmm.

I'd spent the day before studying, catching up on all of my reading. I'd even managed to get some time in at the library doing research for the term paper that was due at the end of the semester, a date that was fast approaching, and so I didn't get to sleep until nearly 2 a.m.

Of course my dreams had been filled with her. With her _hands_ and lips, her scent, her whispers of sin and pleasure, secrets and forbidden desires. She had been all long legs and flowing hair, and she'd _occupied_ me, stolen me, taken me places I'd never even dreamed, and at one point, in the middle of the night, I'd awoken with a start, an unexpected orgasm crashing through me.

Holy fuck.

But, now my phone was yelling at me from beneath the bed and all I wanted was to sleep in. Whoever it was had better have a good reason for calling me so damn early, I'd thought. Groaning, and with one eye open, I launched myself out of the bed and reached beneath it, my fingers curling around the spindly antenna, pulling it towards me as I knelt beside the bed.

Blowing an errant strand of hair out of my eyes, both of them open now, I knelt at the bed, my elbows against the mattress, and checked the caller I.D.

It was mom.

I rolled my eyes.

No matter how many times I'd tried to remind her, she'd always forget about the three hour time difference and call at the ungodliest of hours. Every time I complained about it, she'd apologize and vow to remember next time.

She never remembered.

I climbed back into bed and said a sleepy '_hello',_ hoping this was going to be a quick conversation so I could get back to sleep.

But, mom had other ideas, as she usually did, and I ended up on the phone for over an hour talking about everything under the sun, including some mysterious new case she was working on. She didn't say much about it, just something about righting a nine-year old wrong, which, pretty much described _every_ case she'd worked on.

I didn't tell her about Bette. I don't know why. I wasn't ashamed, but, I just didn't want to have _that_ conversation. I wasn't ready to make any bold declarations about who I was, or who I loved (loved?), or how I identified myself, which, I still didn't know _myself_. And, while I didn't see being with Bette as a big deal, I knew my parents _would_.

So, until I knew where I stood with Bette, I'd decided it was better to keep those cards close to my vest. I was going home during winter break, to spend Christmas with my parents, if things with Bette were still progressing, I could always tell them then.

Yawning but wide awake, I wrapped myself up in the homemade blanket my mom had insisted I bring to school with me, and stumbled over to the coffee maker to prepare a pot of my favorite brew. Then I settled in at my desk, firing up my computer. I was hoping that maybe Bette had emailed me during the night, as she sometimes did, to seduce me with her innermost thoughts, her carnal observations. My cheeks grew hot with anticipation, a familiar stirring in my belly, my lips curving, my breath shallow, hoping, pining , _praying_ to see something from her.

_You've got mail!_

Damnit! As I scanned the page, I could already tell there was nothing from Bette.

I slumped against my chair, disappointed, and scrolled down the list of emails in my inbox. There was an email about an upcoming Nebula-9 convention, a couple of emails from my mom and dad, and then a junk email that I was about to delete but didn't because something caught my eye. It was about an authors reading and signing event at a bookstore in San Francisco.

And, it was Richard Castle.

My heart skipped a beat, my stomach flip flopped, and I looked closer at the screen. The event was _today. _I glanced at the clock in the lower right hand corner of the screen. I had plenty of time to get dressed, jump on my Harley, and get there in time for the reading.

But why?

What was it about this guy that intrigued me so much?

As I heard the last drops of coffee plunk into the pot, I unfolded myself from my task chair and sauntered over to pour a cup, then I picked up Bette's copy of _Dead Man's Chest_, Castle's ninth book, and turned it over in my hands. I found myself staring at the back flap.

_Man_ he was ruggedly handsome.

I was nearly finished with the book. It was good, it was _very_ good, and I'd been meaning to buy some of his earlier novels, to dive right into his body of work, and maybe today was the perfect opportunity to do that.

And, while I was at it, maybe I could meet this Richard Castle in the flesh.

_'You've got mail!'_

I spun around to stare at the computer screen, and then tentatively wandered over to it, not wanting my hopes to be crushed.

I shouldn't have worried.

It was Bette.

She _wanted_ me.

**A/N: I apologize for the delay between updates. I needed a bit of a vacation from writing. But, I'm back now, and will resume my regular schedule. Thanks for sticking with me. And, thanks to KJ for all of the ideas she's going to be sending my way! Yes, I am expecting GREAT things! :-)  
**


	17. Richard Castle

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

* * *

**A/N: I had to change the location of Castle's book reading from Venice Beach to San Francisco, after realizing that a drive from Stanford to Venice Beach would have taken Kate five hours! Oops. :-) Sorry about that if it took you out of the story a bit. **

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Richard Castle**

I found a vacant spot of wall that had been painted a soothing shade of green, the vibrant logo of the independent bookstore emblazoned upon it, and parked my shoulder against it. I crossed my legs at the ankle, and blew a strand of wayward hair out of my eyes as I waited for the reading to begin. Minutes before, having woven my way through the throng of Richard Castle fans, most of them scantily clad women, I'd purchased his first novel, _In a Hail of Bullets. _A round white sticker attached to the front of the paperback told me it had been the winner of the _Non DePlume Society's Tom Straw Award for Mystery Literature._

Impressive, especially for a first novel.

The chorus of whispers from the mostly female audience suddenly morphed into surprised gasps and deafening applause, and I glanced up to see the devilishly handsome and surprisingly _tall_ author wend his way through the crowd, kissing babies, posing for pictures…signing women's _chests_.

Ugh.

He reached the podium and looked out into the crowd, his five-o-clock shadow lending a certain ruggedness to his boyish features. For the briefest of moments I felt his gaze land upon me and an inexplicable sense of familiarity washed over me, as though I knew him, or _would _know him. Like I was staring at my future. He smiled, cocked his head as though searching some distant memory, reaching for _something_ that told him who I was, like this sense of _knowing_ was shared by us both. And then, with the slightest shake of his head, he moved on, winking at the big-busted blonde standing next to me.

I rolled my eyes.

He thanked us for attending, and then lowered his head to read from the open book sitting on the podium in front of him, his large hands framing each side of the wooden lectern. His voice was soothing, and, as it boomed from the Bose speakers that were attached to the wall behind him, I closed my eyes to listen, my body involuntarily leaning forward, tipping towards him like a compass needle pointing north.

Even the timbre and cadence of his voice was familiar, comforting, like the voice of someone who'd whispered deeply-held secrets to me under the dark curtain of night, someone who'd trusted me, loved me, _understood _me. But who also _infuriated _me.

I shuddered as a shiver tripped down my spine, and I was both intrigued and unnerved at the same time. How could someone I had never met seem so much like _family_?

When Castle finished the dramatic reading, his head rising, his eyes scanning the room as he recited the concluding verse, the audience erupted into waves of enthusiastic applause. And, before he could weave his way to his seat, a dozen eager women clad in low cut tops and high heels tripped over themselves to be first in line at the autograph table.

I took my time, not wanting to get crushed by the hoard of excited co-eds dropping their tops for a chance to be inked by Richard Castle's Sharpie.

When, twenty minutes later, I finally approached the table, I handed him my pristine copy of _In a Hail of Bullets_, and he stopped, his dark pen held in mid-air as he looked up at me with a crooked smile. "A classic," he said. "Are you a new fan?"

I nodded, smiling. "Something like that." My heart was racing and it annoyed me even as it excited me.

His eyes crinkled in the corners as he looked up at me, his baby-blue's shining under the glow of the fluorescent lights. "What's your name?"

"Kate," I replied, feeling inexplicably awkward and suddenly unsure of myself. I absently twirled a tuft of hair between my fingers as he stared up at me, smiling.

"Well, Kate," he started, quickly scribbling a message on the inside cover of my newly acquired book and then handing it back to me, a boyish grin curving his lips, "I hope we meet again."

I smiled, nodding, catching his eye even as I was being prodded to move forward by the bookstore employee who was tasked with keeping the flow of Castle fans moving along. I glanced back at the author, who had already turned his attention to the next girl in line, and had the eerie feeling that no truer a hope had ever been expressed.

We _would _be meeting again.

* * *

I had forty-five minutes to kill before I needed to meet Bette at the art gallery down the street. When I'd told her this morning I'd be in San Francisco today, she'd asked if I wanted to go with her to check it out, the gallery had just opened and was hosting an exhibit by an artist who specialized in "found" art. Whatever that was. Always wanting to broaden my horizons, expose myself to all kinds of experiences, I'd said yes. Of course, with Bette, I'd have said yes even if she'd asked me to go watch a pile of dirt if it meant I could stand beside her, touch her, breathe in her scent, listen to her velvety voice as she whispered in my ear, her body warm and buzzing beside me. Even now, thinking about it, my body was responding, every nerve every cel tingling with anticipation of _her_.

After the exhibit, we planned to stay in the area overnight, have dinner and then a stroll along the bay before retiring for the night at a small B&B in the Castro neighborhood. I smiled, my thoughts wandering back to our last beach outing, our _erotic _beach outing, the tickle of memory surging to the forefront of my brain, sending ripples of pleasure to my most sensitive areas.

And, just like that, Richard Castle and his dramatic reading and zealous, nearly topless, fans had been relegated to its furthest corners.

At least for now.

I wandered through the surprisingly expansive bookstore. As modest and unassuming as its storefront veneer appeared, its interior was as massive and bold, vibrantly decorated with rows upon rows of shelves filled with books that had come from all corners of the world. I ran my hand along the spines of various sized hardcovers, relishing the feel of them against my fingertips. Unbeknownst to me, I had wandered into the adult oriented section of the bookstore, with titles such as _World's Best Erotica 1998,_ and _Harry, and Barry, and Kim_ prominently displayed. I lifted a large coffee-table volume from the shelf and laughed, wondering who would ever try _100 Sex Positions of the Kama Sutra_. Shaking my head, I set the book back on the shelf and was about to turn around when another book caught my eye, _Lesbian Sex._ I looked around, suddenly feeling self conscious, and flipped through the pages of the book, my cheeks turning a gentle shade of pink as I perused the pages of the instructional manual, my eyes wide as I realized that although Bette had shown me a lot, there were a number of ways that we could be together that we had _yet_ to explore.

Without thinking about it, I made a straight line for the register and bought the book, relieved that the middle-aged woman ringing my purchase didn't even _blink_ after I set the title down on the counter. Adding the paperback to my satchel, where it sat cover-to-cover with Castle's first novel, I exited the store and headed in the direction of the little gallery.

Bette was already there, standing outside of the Spanish styled building, her raven hair shining under the bright sun, her eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses. She smiled as I approached, exposing a row of brilliant white teeth, and I returned the smile, my lips bowing of their own accord. My heart slammed against my ribcage and I silently wondered if it would ever stop doing that, if there would ever be a day when I'd see her for the first time, and my pulse would just remain steady.

I hoped not.

She looked stunning, her white denim and short-sleeved baby blue blouse hugging her curves as though they'd been custom made for her. When I approached, I felt my body heat up, my cheeks turn crimson, my belly contract, and as she gently pressed her lips against mine, her tongue darting out to briefly skim my lower lip, her breath warm and heady, I felt my body begin to hum.

And, I wanted to _do_ things to her.

_Naked_ things.


	18. Breathe

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Seventeen: Breathe**

With smoldering obsidian eyes that danced against the half-light, sultry lips kissed by shades of pink, she sauntered towards me with catlike grace and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, the ripples of pleasure radiate from my center, and my heart beat against my ribcage like a bass drum. Only, I didn't feel it in my chest. I felt it _there, _between my legs, beneath my wetness, my wanting.

_Thud, thud, thud._

I stopped, my wine glass nearly drained of its crimson liquid, perched by delicate fingers in mid-air, as though I couldn't decide whether to take a sip or set it down.

Her eyes dropped to my stocking-clad feet, impossibly long lashes hiding their intent, and then she slowly ascended my body, as though scanning me, observing me, and I could _feel _it as surely as if she were using her hands. When her gaze hovered at my mouth, my lips parted, my tongue involuntarily slipping out to moisten them, before I gently bit down on their lower rim.

She chuckled, her mouth bowing into a salacious grin, her laughter both wicked and aphrodisiacal, and again I felt it, _thud, thud, thud,_ against the slickness of my sex.

My body was trapped beneath the layer of dark denim covering my legs, the soft sage-colored cotton of my sweater, and, as she drew closer to me, her intoxicating scent arriving ahead of her, I could feel the vibration of my body, as though the fabric coming between _my_ nakedness and _hers_ could no longer be abided.

I held my breath. Waiting. Wanting. Watching. I could both feel and _hear_ my life's blood as it _whooshed_ through my veins, and I feared I might collapse, right there, right then, on the ancient Turkish rug that softened the dim hardwood floor of our room, a pulsing mass of blood and bones and aching trembling flesh_._

She reached out with lissome fingers, tracing my hand, the one that held the wine glass, and a score of butterflies took flight in my stomach. She took it from me, raising the goblet to her lips, draining its contents in one slow, refined, swallow, her eyes never leaving mine.

I was hypnotized.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

My belly contracted.

She quietly placed the wine glass on the table beside her, and then took one last step, her agile body inching towards me as if in slow motion. And, with a sultry smile, a mischievous glint of hunger, of _desire_, in her eyes, my name rose from her throat in a rushed whispered promise, and she brushed her parted lips tenderly over mine.

Her breath was warm and alluring, her body invading me, pulling me into its carnal wake, like sand at high tide, and shards of pleasure raced down my spine, my flesh turning into a sea of troubled goose-bumps.

I wanted to fall into her, but I was immobile, paralyzed, breathless, and so I just stood there as dust particles danced in the fading light around me, her body gently pressed against mine, just barely touching. I could feel her hardened nipples beneath the pale blue shirt she was wearing as she pressed closer to me, our bodies molding and coiling around each other, her lips hot on my neck. I closed my eyes, my head inching backwards as she kissed my throat. I heard a buzzing in my ears, wondering what it was, before realizing it was me. I was practically _purring_.

And then, the air shifted, and the world around us grew silent, all the spaces filled with heady anticipation, and she slipped her hands around my waist, molding against my curves, her warm fingers snaking beneath my sweater to skitter against my pale skin, sending _shock-waves_ throughout me and I whimpered, bringing my hands up to her shoulders, the back of her neck, tangling in her unruly midnight colored hair.

She mapped a path from my waistline to just beneath my breasts, my flesh quivering, my mind racing, my blood hot as it traveled the crisscrossing veins that traveled my body just beneath the porcelain surface of my skin. And, then she reached my breasts, her fingers skimming over my nipples, their rise and stiffening a reward of her teasing digits, and I thought I might lose my _mind_.

"Kate," she whispered, her lips coursing my jawline, her hands palming my breasts.

I opened one eye, looking at her through a fog of desire. "Hmmm?"

"_Breathe!_"


	19. Taking Charge

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

* * *

**A/N: An alert reader noted that there is an inconsistency between this story and Passions Past, in terms of the timing for some of what happens in this chapter. I simply beg your indulgence, and ask that you keep in mind that the events that were shown in Passions Past were through the memories of the characters, and could therefore have been imprecise. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. :-) I hope you enjoy the chapter. I enjoyed writing it. **

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Taking Charge**

It was the gentle, purposeful, subtle scraping of her fingernail down the column of my spine that did it. The kisses, the nakedness, the illicit whispers against my ear had set it in motion, but it was _this_ ghostly touch that had sent me spiraling into nirvana.

I was suddenly transported into some utopian version of my life in which every bad or wrong thing that had ever happened to me had suddenly disappeared from the cabinets of my memory, every problem or worry or regret vanquished to the darkest, quietest corners of my mind, and all that mattered, all that existed, was _her_.

With agonizing_ deliberateness_, she tripped from one ridge to the next, her mouth hot against my ear as she murmured her desires, her promises, her _intentions_.

And, while her breath was warm, it sent an army of goose bumps rippling over every inch of my trembling, infused flesh, and I shuddered, a mewling prayer escaping my lips.

After she had removed my sweater, divested me of my bra, she'd stepped back to gaze at me, her obsidian eyes absorbing my nakedness with a carnal resolve that was engraved across every shadow and line on her face. She'd smiled, running her fingers down my front, pausing at my breasts, my nipples, stepping closer to me, her lips skimming my cheek, peppering me with tiny kisses. I reached for the top button of her blouse, but she'd batted my hands away, stepping back to do the job herself.

Her midnight eyes never leaving mine, she'd slowly unbuttoned her blouse, taking it off and letting it fall to the floor in a delicate heap at her feet. Her black lace-trimmed bra quickly followed. I stared at her as though it were my first time seeing her in the flesh, as though I had just stumbled upon the lost statue of Michelangelo, a work of art so stunning, so breathtaking, I could only gaze upon her with dewy eyes.

She floated towards me, pressing her breasts against mine, her hands sliding around my waist, her fingernails leaving white trails along my back as she ran them up and down the my back.

And, then she found my spine.

And, sent me spinning.

She began to kiss my shoulder, her lips soft against the rise of bone beneath skin, and she trailed a wet path down my arm until her mouth found the inside of my elbow and her tongue licked the tender skin, her lips kissing me wetly. My whole arm vibrated with pleasure, and I could feel it _there,_ between my legs, in the wanting, throbbing place that waited.

Waited for _her_.

She moved to my wrist, her curious tongue examining every millimeter of sensitive skin, until she left it to kiss my palm, where she lingered.

Deftly, she straightened up, her fingers manipulating the button on my jeans, sending shards of energy coursing throughout my body. I threw my head back, my hair tickling the already excited skin that draped my spine, my hands surfing her upper arms, as she slipped the button through its eyelet and then roughly unzipped my jeans.

She thrust her hand in the opening, slipping her fingers beneath the gentle fabric of my panties until they easily slipped between my wet folds, her fingers twirling around my hardened clit, expertly massaging, coaxing, teasing. I gasped, my fingers digging into the sinewy flesh of her upper arms and I knew what would happen next, knew her body her signals, her breath, and scent and _intention_.

And, as much as I _wanted _it, wanted _her_, I curled my fingers around her wrist and croaked, my voice husky and unrecognizable. "Wait, Bette. Stop."

She paused, her body stiffening. "What?"

I shook my head.

"Kate? What? Don't you want…?"

I guided her hand from beneath my jeans, my fingers entwining with hers, noting the dampness of them. I kissed her softly, my lips seeking her mouth with silent explanation. "Yes, yes, I _want_." I emphasized. "I definitely _want." _

She quirked an eyebrow, leaning slightly away from me, "Then what…?"

I gazed into the pool of obsidian lust that adorned her eyes and smiled, a slow, coy lilt of my lips. "I want to be in charge this time." I clarified.

She stared at me, and then her lips inched upwards, her eyes danced, one eyebrow arced playfully. "Yeah?"

I nodded.

She stepped backwards, raising her arms as if in some ritual offering to an ancient diety. "Then, take _charge_, Kate."

I swallowed.

And, as my feet took their time shuffling towards her, our carnal gaze never breaking, I swallowed nervously, scores of erotic thoughts and images racing through my mind like a slide show on fast-forward.

When I reached her, noting with pride that her flawless mocha skin had broken out into a sea of goose bumps, her eyes staring at me with an uncertain need, I reached out, my fingers dancing over her skin, determined to explore every inch of her body with the determination of Magellan, a transcontinental discovery of flesh, and bone, and lust and love.

And, _desire_.

This time it would be _I _who was the grand master, and _she_ the expensive instrument.

* * *

**I**t was difficult for her, at first, to just let me take charge. She kept wanting to take over, take control, dictate how our bodies would dance. But, I would gently remind her that _I_ was the choreographer of this ballet, and then she would smile and nod, her body would soften, and she'd let me lead the dance again.

Which began with my undressing her, watching her step out of her clothing, her body radiant against the lamplight, shining, effervescent, _humming._ I stood there, practically for a full minute just _looking_ at her, absorbing her beauty, her body looking positively like an artists rendering. And, when she'd whimpered, her _need_ becoming evident, I guided her to the bed where she lay below me, one arm raised above her against the feathered pillow, the other draped across her middle, and I'd wished I'd had the talent of Matisse so that I could capture this moment on canvas, vibrant colors, swirling brushstrokes, a nude worthy of the revered halls of the Louvre in Paris. But, I could only paint her in my mind; my hands, my eye, lacking the talent for anything else.

I was discovering a different kind of talent, however, one that made her purr and gasp, exhale with deliberate measure, her body rolling and rippling below me, and as I divested myself of the last of my garments, I used my whole body to make her cry out, her mournful murmurs, her animated sobs, as sacred to me as a Gregorian chant to a monk at Vespers.

I heard myself speaking, unsure of what jumbled words may have slipped past my tongue, but they must have been surprising, risky, because she raised her head curiously. There was an infinity of silence between us; more than enough to make me question myself, but then she lowered herself to the pillow, cocking her head to the side as she regarded me, open, vulnerable, and my doubts subsided like a receding tide, she had met me, matching risk to risk. Just like the first time I'd shared her bed.

Shared her _body_.

My hands acted according to their own wisdom, touching her body with a growing certainty, and she gravitated to me, in that unmistakable arc of a women giving herself, so that something in me finally moved, finally bent towards her and I explored her using my hands, and lips, my teeth, my breasts, even the soles of my _feet_ as I let the full weight of my body to drape over her. And, when her teeth sunk into the softest part of my shoulder, I knew that I was most certainly _in_ _charge_. For the first time, the first time since she'd seen me from across the room, hiding behind a fichus plant at that party over a week ago, _I_ was in control.

And, I liked it.

I straddled her, my knees pressed against the mattress on either side of her hips, and rose above her body, allowing her to gaze upon me, _wanting_ her to look at me. And, as her hooded eyes slowly scanned my upper body, I was overwhelmed by the sense that I was journeying to a greater depth of myself than I had ever known, drawing back from her, letting myself be _seen_. And, as always happened with her, the awkward, uncertain version of me, the version of me that cared what other people thought, was inexplicably relegated to the shadows, banished from my personality like a demon exorcised with the skill of a priest.

I shuddered, my body feeling every bit of this experience, in every fiber, every cell, every organ and hair and bone, and the pleasure of it, the _power_ of it, rippled through me.

The room was dark despite the ancient lamp that cast an amber glow across the floor, and I closed my eyes. I knew how to smell, to taste and touch and breathe her in, to make her cross the boundaries, to open to me through every pore. I knew how to make love to this woman, but I had never made her _come_ with my mouth. My hands, it had always been my hands, and this time, on this turbulent night, I would finally _taste_ her.

My hands responded to the silent calling of her body, tracing a path along the sharp angles of her collarbone, my palms molding to her delicious breasts, my fingers pinching her elongated nipples, my fingernails scraping the tepid flesh that covered muscle and bone as I traveled towards her naval. I ran my fingers through the soft down of hair at the apex of her thighs, and I scooted down her body, my eyes locked on hers, hungry, their intent and purpose more than clear, and she raised her head, her lips parting.

"Kate,"

I dipped between her legs, my tongue eager, and I felt, more than saw, her head hit the pillow, an agonized cry rising from her throat. The throbbing of my own sex both distracted and encouraged me as I went down on her. Her scent was inviting, heady, erotic, and her taste, it was beyond my ability to adequately describe, but it was pleasing and sultry, visceral.

I moved my tongue, first in circles, and then back and forth, then touching her clit, laving it, trying to find a tempo, a rhythm that would please her. I felt unsure, like I was bumbling this, but she bucked against me, her moans and sighs, her 'Ohhh, Kate's' telling me I was on the right track.

"Yes, this," she said, her hands reaching down and touching my head, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Just like this. Just, ahhhh, yes. Kate."

I felt her rising against my mouth, her clit hardening, and she tasted different, _tinny_, and it aroused me, excited me, made me need her, need this, this crashing against me, this coming, this opening and vulnerability, and raw, carnal _sharing_ of each other. And I was falling.

Hard.

I must have said so, because I heard her say, 'me too,' or something to that effect, and right after that, her body tensed below me, her breathing increased, a rapid in and out that made me wonder if she would hyperventilate, and then she paused, and suddenly grew still, rigid, a strangled cry rising from deep within her chest, as I felt the contraction against my mouth.

And, she _came_.

I held on, my chin hard against her clit, riding out the waves of her orgasm as it crashed against her like a whitecap on rocky shore, and she screamed my name, her velvety voice echoing throughout the darkened room.

Her pleasure pulled me into its rising currents, making me move in an irregular, syncopated rhythm, clutching, and breathing hard against her until she came down, the orgasm subsiding, only the condensed shudders of its aftershocks remaining, rippling through her, rippling through _me._

And, when I knew I could breathe normally again, when I could safely ascend her body, I crawled back up the bed and lay on top of her, my mouth hot on hers, my kiss deep, my tongue probing and curious, and she wrapped her arms and legs around me as we kissed, a soft moan rising from her throat that I sipped up like I needed it to live. Like it was a talisman that would ward off our darker thoughts, our uncertainty and fear, the shame that others would have us feel for what we were doing.

Her hands in my hair, my lip trapped between the dangerous ridges of her teeth, I laid very still, watching the shadows of the trees that danced against the windowpane, not believing that my eyes were open, but knowing why. They had to be, to make sure that this was real, this time, this place, this woman, that it was real and not the ghostly imaginings of my fertile mind.

Something inside of me shook itself open, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, wanting something more, something more from _her_. And, when she looked at me, truly looked at me, I could see that she saw it, recognized it.

I smiled, gazing down at her through misty eyes, feeling requited, loved, until something skittered across her face, some emotion, or fear, _something_ I couldn't quite identify, and I panicked. But then it was gone, and it was just her again. Just her looking at me, smiling at me, luring me into her seductive grasp, and whispering against my ear, "Your turn."

And, she flipped us over so that now _she_ was on top of _me._

And, just like that, I was no longer in charge.


	20. Uh-Oh

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Nineteen: Uh-Oh.**

_(Bette...)_

_I was starting to get that, "Uh-oh" feeling. _

_It had started a few days ago, on the beach, I think, when I'd watched you swim out beyond the shore, your head a bobbing brown ball against the blue of the water, and the feelings had just swept over me. But, I'd ignored it, pretended it didn't happen, pretended that it was something else: the unusually warm day, perhaps; the wine that I'd just uncorked and was languidly sipping as I watched you plunge below the water, your shapely legs breaching the surface as you dove; the orgasm that you'd given me not twenty-four hours before._

_Anything, but _real_ feelings._

_When I'd spied you at that party ten days ago, when I'd caught you staring at me, I could see the hunger on your face, the desire, the curiosity, your adventurous spirit, your obvious erotic energy, and I'd thought we'd have fun together. I'd thought you'd be exactly what I needed to move on with my life, to move on after the disastrous relationship I'd just escaped. I'd thought it would be fun, and free, and sexy, but I'd never imagined it would be more than that, I'd never imagined that _you_ would be more than that._

_But here we were, spending the night together at a romantic B&B in San Francisco, drinking wine, eating well, making _love_, and it was beginning to turn into something more, something deeper, something I couldn't control._

_Something I didn't _want.

_So, as I watched you sleep, watched the measured rise and fall of your chest as you breathed in and out, your perfectly shaped breasts gently moving up and down, your body glistening against the moonlight, your chestnut colored hair splayed across the pillow, it happened. The faintest little voice struggling to be heard, eager to climb from the back of my mind, reminding me, torturing me, scolding me._

_'Uh-oh.'_

_I tamped it down, shut _her_ down, that voice, that wicked, wicked voice. I Just ignored it. _

_I was _not_ falling. I was _not_. This was just supposed to be a fun affair, a fling, it wasn't supposed to get serious, it _wasn't_ serious. Hell, you're not even a lesbian! _

_So, why was I having feelings for you? _

_Why was I falling in love with you? _

_ Oh, Kate. Why did you have to be so...so..._

_So fucking extraordinary? _

* * *

**Day Nine**

**I** could feel her watching me. My eyes were still closed, my brain slowly ascending to consciousness, and I could tell by the irregular way she was breathing that she was awake, even though her body was unmoving in the bed beside me, still, warm, silent.

I let a smile creep up my lips, and when I heard her softly chuckle, I opened my eyes to find her staring at me, her eyes dark and dangerous as she gazed at me with an expression that seemed faraway, but also something else, something darker. I couldn't quite figure out _what_ it was.

I rolled onto my stomach, tucking my arms beneath me, and stretched my legs, a yawn rising from my throat as I smashed my face into the soft pillow. Then, I turned to look at her, her lips open and smiling, revealing a row of brilliantly white teeth, her black hair a mass of disorganized curls that partly obscured her face, her eyes open and bright, but hesitant.

Something. _Something_ was there, hidden behind the dark onyx of her pupils.

"Good morning, Bette," I whispered.

She smiled, her eyes reflecting the morning sun as it peeked through the second story window. "Hi."

"How'd you sleep?" I asked, my arms still tucked beneath me.

"Like a cat," she replied, turning to her side and propping her head in her hand.

I grinned, she often _reminded_ me of a cat. "I'm glad."

"What about you?"

"I might have been purring," I replied, finally rolling to _my_ side, slipping my hand inside of hers as it lay on the sheet between us.

She glanced down at our joined hands, then brought them to her lips. She closed her eyes and softly kissed my knuckles. Once, twice, a third time. Pausing, waiting, silent, still, as though processing something so complex she had to squeeze out the rest of the world in order to think about it.

And, then her eyes flew open and she let go of me, snaking her hand around my neck, pulling me roughly into her, catching me off guard, surprised.

Her lips were soft but her kiss was hard, her tongue probing and relentless, and my thoughts turned to chaos, as though a sudden storm had caught us both by surprise. It didn't take long before I could feel the familiar wetness, the wanting, the sharp stabs of pleasure course through me, and before I could breathe or speak or gather my thoughts, she was on top of me, her hands everywhere, her lips and teeth and tongue ravaging me, her legs pushing mine apart as she descended my body.

And, when her tongue parted my inner lips, teasing and coaxing, searching for the hardened pearl that would send me to nirvana, I cried out, my whole body shuddering, on fire, tumultuous and oddly confused by her sudden, almost angry, need for sex.

As quickly as she had been seized by her need for me, I was as quickly rocked by an orgasm so sharp and swift that it literally took my breath away. Gasping, choking, begging for air, I contracted against her mouth, ripples of pleasure coasting through me, and then subsiding, leaving gentle aftershocks in their wake. And, before I could catch my breath, before I could come _down _from the almost painful pleasure roaring through me, she was moving her flattened palm against me, back and forth, quickly, furious, and within _seconds_, another orgasm seized me, sending me spiraling into a quivering mass of flesh and blood and _ache_.

When I opened my eyes, my body still writhing beneath her, I saw that she was pleasuring herself, as well, could tell that she was close, one hand on me, the other on herself, her head thrown back, her lips parted, her eyes closed. I sat up, grabbing her by the shoulders, dragging her on top of me, greedily replacing her hand with mine, and, with barely any coaxing from my nimble fingers, she _came_.

She collapsed on top of me, her cheek against my chest, she was panting, whimpering, gasping for air.

And, then she was sobbing.

"Hey. Bette. Hey." I said, concern etched on my face. "What is it?"

She shook her head, I could feel her salty tears against my breast. "Nothing," she whispered. "Happens sometimes."

I wrapped my arms around her, coiling my legs too, one hand soothing her hair as she caught her breath, gathered herself, calmed her tears. She palmed my right breast, squeezing and massaging, her lips curling around the nipple, her teeth scraping my sensitive skin; and a flash of pleasure stabbed at my belly.

"I love being with you, Kate," she confessed, her voice strangled and rough, her breath hot against my nipple. "It's crazy how fast. How..." she stopped, evidently searching for the right words. She finally looked up at me, her eyes misty, "...how compatible we are."

I nodded, smiling. "I know."

"It scares me," she blurted, and then immediately bit her bottom lip, a flash of regret skittering across her face, as though she wished she could take the words back.

I frowned, "It scares you?"

She smiled, shaking her head as she lifted herself off of me and then stretched out next to me on the bed. "Never mind, it's just, _intense_ sometimes, you know?"

I searched her face, every line, every shadow, every soft rise and valley. She was keeping something from me, something painful or frightening, but I couldn't tell which, perhaps it was both, and when she reached out to kiss me, her expression smooth and unworried, her lips urgent and lusty, I shoved the disturbing thought aside, deciding there was no reason to borrow trouble.

She laved her tongue over my bottom lip before pulling away and reclining against the pillow, curling up next to me like an indolent cat, one hand still playing with my breast. I smiled, tracing the ghost of her kiss on my lips with my fingertips, which were cool in spite of the heat radiating throughout the rest of me. Changing the subject, I asked, "What do you want to do with our day?"

She laughed, a coy smile playing her lips, and tripped her fingernail over my nipple, rewarded by its immediate rise. "I can think of a few things," she teased.

I smiled, raising my eyebrows.

So could _I_.


	21. Wet

**Passions Prologue  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Twenty: Wet.**

**Day Ten**

I heard the shower turn on and immediately swept the expanse of the mattress beside me.

She was gone.

I smiled.

I tiptoed into the bathroom, the silhouette of her naked body against the shower curtain already sending shards of pleasure throughout my aching sex. I opened the curtain, my heart thudding against my ribcage.

She looked up, a bar of soap in one hand, a loofah sponge in the other. And, then she smiled, drawing me into the shower with her. She dropped the soap and the sponge; they landed at our feet, swirling around in the water that cycloned there, and she wrapped her arms around my waist, her mouth urgent against mine, her tongue relentless and daring.

I was already so wet, so ready, the pleasurable throbbing at my center compelling me to grab her hand and shove it between my legs. I ached for her, needed her, _wanted_ her.

I didn't have to ask, or tell, or command, or beg. She knew just what to do.

She fucked me.

Right there, in the shower, she fucked me with her fingers. Using her thumb to coax my clit, tease it, bring me higher and higher, closer to release. I clutched at her, my fingers digging into her flesh, leaving angry red marks from my too-long nails. I raised one leg and wrapped it around her, my mouth at her throat, my lips and teeth and tongue ravishing her, the moans and sharp breaths coming from her mouth a reward of my eager ministrations.

She shoved me against the hard tile of the wall, the warm water cascading over my body, her fingers still plunging in and out of me, her thumb circling my clit, and I thought that I would surely break apart, shatter into a million sharp pieces all over her well-tiled bathroom, satiated, happy, _vibrating_ pieces.

I climbed higher and higher, could barely keep my breath, could barely stay upright, my legs wanting to give in, even as they held me up with a strength I didn't know I had.

She moved her free hand to my left breast, covering it with her palm and then teasing the nipple with her fingers, pinching it, twisting, its rise and stiffening a prize of her effort. She lowered her head, curling her lips around my nipple, sucking, licking, blowing on it.

And, then.

She bit me.

I cried out, arcing my back towards her, my hands grabbing either side of her head until she let go, and rose up to meet me. Her breath was warm and inviting, smelling of coffee and vanilla, her tongue probing, erotic, waltzing from my mouth to hers, then back to mine where it engaged in a dangerous, furious, carnal dance.

My belly contracted, the orgasm just on the other side of _ugh,_ and I bucked wildly against her hand, a long _loud_ string of dirty words coasting past my lips, echoing around the small bathroom, ringing in our ears. That must have turned her on, because in spite of the heat from the shower, her whole body broke out into a sea of very wet goose bumps and she moaned in my ear, her tongue darting out to lave its shell. She ground her hips against me, her hand still urgently coaxing me, and I was close, _so close._

And, then I _came_, plummeted over the edge by my name dripping from her lips, her seductive voice as smooth as velvet,_ 'Kate, come for me, Kate.'_

I held on, my arms wrapped tightly around her torso, my breasts smashed with hers, her nipples like hard round gumdrops against my chest, and, as I cried out with each glorious wave of the orgasm, I could feel her _biting_ into my shoulder, the ridge of her teeth dangerous, playful, raw and primal. She clamped down, not so hard that she drew blood, but hard enough that it sent a sharp stinging sensation through the soft flesh of my shoulder. I imagined the bite marks that would be left there and another ripple of pleasure coursed through me like the aftershock of an earthquake.

And then, suddenly, inexplicably, catching me completely by surprise, an '_I love you'_ bubbled up from my throat and tumbled past my lips; unbidden, unexpected, but there it was, honest, open, hanging in the air between us as though suspended there by forces greater than I.

I blinked, shocked that I'd just said it, less shocked that I _felt_ it, not expecting her to reply, necessarily, but not expecting silence, either, which was what she gave me. I had felt her flinch, though, just the slightest jerk, barely noticeable, but it was there. It was telling me what I _didn't_ want to know.

So, I ignored it.

As I came down from the orgasm, my body still shuddering with pleasure, I slipped my hand between her legs, my fingers finding her wet and soft, ready. But, she curled her fingers around my wrist, placing her lips softly on my ear.

"No time, Kate," she whispered. "I'm running late."

I stopped, felt my body go rigid, my cheeks grow hot. "Oh," I whispered. "Oh."

She framed my face with her hands, her lips soft on mine as she kissed me, and then she leaned back to gaze into my eyes, her fingers still caressing my face. She must have sensed my confusion. "I loved this," she explained. "I did. You surprised me, Kate."

I smiled, reaching for her waist, trying to pull her towards me.

"But, I have a meeting I have to get to. And, I can't be late."

I dropped my hands to my sides, trying to hide my disappointment. "Oh, okay." I stammered. "Okay. I'll let you finish."

I hurried out of the shower, grabbing the nearest towel to wrap around my dripping body, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. Why had I felt so rejected? She did have a busy day ahead; I knew that she had to be at a meeting today, what was the big deal?

I toweled off and padded back to her bedroom, slipping into my clothes from the night before, a pair of faded jeans and a cornflower blue T-shirt. I wiggled my feet into flip-flops and angrily dragged a comb through my wet hair, chastising myself for feeling like a bad-tempered adolescent.

I heard the shower turn off, the curtain slide open, _the door click closed_.

Why had she closed the door?

I stared at it, as though willing it to open, feeling rejected and shut out, and then I shook my head, I was being stupid. Maybe she'd just closed it because the air coming in from the main room was cold.

_That's not it, Kate. You know that's not it._

I bit the inside of my cheek and draped the damp towel on the hook protruding from her closet door, blinking back tears.

_You said 'I love you.'_

I found a hair tie on top of her dresser and pulled my long locks into a pony tail, then I shrugged into my _Stanford_ sweatshirt and walked towards the tiny kitchen, noticing that she'd already made a pot of coffee. I poured a cup, taking a sip and leaning against the counter, a heavy sigh tumbling past my lips.

_And, she didn't say 'I love you' back, Kate. _

The bathroom door opened and Bette breezed out, a waft of steam following her. She stopped when she saw me, smiling, the oversized white towel draping her body, hiding her curves. She looked like she wanted to say something but then thought better of it. She nodded, and then headed towards the bedroom area, opening her closet and pulling out a navy blue business suit and white blouse.

I watched her as she tentatively slipped out of the towel, her flawless mocha skin glistening and perfect, and I felt the familiar stirring between my legs. I tried to tamp it down.

She quickly dressed, her hair curling around her face as it air-dried, and when she slipped into a pair of high heels, she finally walked to me, standing in front of me.

"Will I see you later?" I asked, cursing the tremor in my voice, a betrayal of my sudden anxiety.

She shook her head, gently taking the mug from my hands and helping herself to a quick drink of my coffee. "I'm stuck in meetings all day, and then I have to sit in on a panel tonight at the CAC," she handed me the mug, her eyes meeting mine. "I'll call you when I'm done?"

I nodded mutely, desperately hoping my disappointment didn't show. I needed to study tonight, anyway, so this was just as well. Except why did I feel like I had a rock in my stomach? And why did it suddenly feel so weird between us? Like in the time it takes to blink your eye, something had shifted, something had _changed _between us, and I felt tentative, unsure, without _hope._

She kissed me, and when we parted, she softly traced my lips with the pad of her thumb. "Tomorrow, okay? I want to take you to a new Indie film I heard about. You game?"

"Yeah. I'd like that," I replied, smiling, hoping the embarrassment in my cheeks didn't show.

"Good," she glanced at her wristwatch. "I need to go. Can I give you a ride to your dorm?"

I shook my head and set the mug down. "No, I um, I'm fine. I think I'll walk."

She glanced down at my feet, probably assessing that it was an awfully long walk for flip-flops. "You sure? It's not a problem."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I replied, shoving myself off of the counter and smiling at her, again, stupidly, fighting back against the gnawing uncertainty I was feeling. "I'll be fine," I reached out and tapped her elbow. "Hope your meetings go well."

Something flickered across her face, I couldn't tell what, but I knew I saw _something_.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "I really am sorry, Kate," she offered.

"Sorry?" I asked, desperately trying to be as nonchalant as I _didn't_ feel. "For what?"

She stepped closer, invading my personal space. "For not being able to _finish_. You know, what you started this morning." She brushed her lips over mine, her breath warm and smelling like coffee. "But, I promise, we will pick up where we left off, okay?"

I chuckled, leaning into her, feeling just the slightest relief. "Okay."

She kissed me again, this time longer, her tongue roaming, curious, meeting mine in a languid ballet, and I felt my knees go weak, my mind tossing around the events of this morning, juggling them with the expertise of a carnival clown. A score of butterflies took flight in my stomach.

She pulled away, wiping her bottom lip with the tip of her finger, her eyes dancing in the sunlight. She moaned, a coy grin curling her lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," she purred, her eyes full of promise. But, reflecting something _else_, as well_._ Something dark and sad, troubling, like a harbinger of pain.

But, I ignored _it_, too. Or, I tried to, at least.

I nodded, following her out the door. "Tomorrow," I blurted. "I'm already looking forward to it."

We journeyed silently down the hallway until we exited the front door of her building where she turned and hastily embraced me. We kissed, quickly, softly, almost as an afterthought, and then she slid into her car.

And, as she drove away, and I stood there feeling stupid and unexpectedly insignificant, I noted with a passing banality that her _hair_ was still wet.

Which seemed like a silly thing to be noticing.

Except, for the fact, that, so was_ I._


	22. The Flower Duet

**Passions Prologue  
**Dana Keylits

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Flower Duet**

_I hadn't noticed the blister. The one that popped up between my big and middle toes, I just…hadn't noticed it. I was so lost in my own head, my brain a jumbled mass of chaotic images, frustrated thoughts, that the pain radiating up my toes hadn't registered. I'd just lumbered home, one foot in front of the other, marching ever forward, mumbling to myself, probably looking a little out of my mind, and, certainly not caring about that, either._

_By the time I'd gotten back to my dorm, the blister was already broken. I kicked off my flip flops and searched through the first aid kit my mom had packed for me, slapping on a bandaid before tumbling onto my bed. _

_I spent the next half hour just staring at the ceiling. Remembering. Remembering how you felt in the shower, your fingers, your lips, your tongue, the delicious way I suffered as you brought me to climax. The unbelievable stupidity of my mouth, blurting out an 'I love you' without any warning or perspective. What had I been thinking? Clearly, you weren't ready to hear that. Hell, I wasn't all that sure I was even ready to say it. _

_But, I had. _

_And now, it feels like something has shifted, something is different. _

_It's like you're pulling away. _

* * *

**Day Eleven**

**T**he small independent movie theater was about half full when we entered. Bette looked around, searching for someone, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Seeing a cluster of women off to the right of us, she waved at them and headed in their direction, grabbing my hand and towing me behind her.

I didn't know that this was going to be a group thing, I thought it was a date, an opportunity to recover from the unfortunate and ill-timed '_I love you'_ of the day before, and my heart sank as we approached the group of women.

"Alice, Jeanne, Tracee…" Bette started, gently wrapping her arm around my waist and pushing me towards the women. "This is my friend, Kate Beckett."

_Friend_.

"Kate, these are my friends from way, way back."

Tracee held out her hand, shaking mine with the vigorousness of a politician. "Nice to meet you, Kate." She turned to Bette and made a face. "And, thanks for making me feel a hundred years old."

Bette laughed.

Alice, a short blonde woman with a pixie haircut looked me up and down. She shook my hand, a coy smile on her face. "Alice Pieszecki."

I nodded.

"So, you're Bette's new," she held her fingers up in air quotes, "…friend."

Bette coughed. "Alice."

Alice glanced sideways at Bette. "What?"

"Play nice."

Alice rolled her eyes. "I always play _nice_, Bette."

"Sure you do," Bette commented, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

Clearly, there was something between these two, but before I could decide whether I should inquire about it, Bette was ushering me to our seats, directly behind the trio of friends who had sat in the row in front of us and were whispering and giggling, pointing their fingers at some woman who'd just taken a seat in front of them and across the aisle. They seemed less mature than Bette, less worldly, and I wondered how she knew all of them.

When we'd settled into our seats, I leaned in and whispered, "So, which one is your ex?"

Bette seemed startled by this, her eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted and curved. "What makes you think any of them are my ex?"

I side-nodded at Alice. "It's her, isn't it?"

Bette bit her bottom lip as she considered me. "We had a thing. _Once_. It was awhile ago, and now we're friends."

"Ah," I said, nodding.

She sat back and watched me watch the back of Alice's animated head. The blonde was seated between Tracee and Jeanne and was talking about something that must have been hysterical because the three of them were roaring with laughter. Bette tapped the back of my hand as it lay in my lap. "Are you jealous?"

"What? No. Why would you say that?"

Bette leaned back, opening her bottle of water and taking a generous swig before answering. "I don't know, Kate. You seem," she narrowed her eyes, "…different today."

I shrugged. "I guess I was a bit thrown by being introduced to your friends. I wasn't prepared." I smiled, desperately trying to cover up the fact that, yes, indeed, I _was_ jealous.

Which made no sense, because Bette was seated next to _me_, not Alice, and we weren't even a _thing_ yet. We'd made no commitments, we'd barely even talked about our relationship, what right did I have to feel jealous? I felt like an idiot.

Bette was about to say something else when the house lights flickered and then dimmed. We both sat back in our seats and turned our attention to the screen. The film was a love story set in Spain, the protagonists struggling with a banal existence, the kind of apathy that grows over time when you ignore the subtle changes that happen between you, until you suddenly realize you feel like strangers and are faced with the decision to either work your way back, or say your goodbyes.

Our heroines (yes, it was a lesbian film) had chosen the former, a struggle that, in the penultimate scene, resulted in what could only be described as _soft_ _porn_.

I would have been lying if I'd said I was unaffected by the images flickering before me, erotic, carnal images that sent a familiar tickle radiating from my center like tentacles of pleasure unfurling over my body. I wiggled uncomfortably in my seat and reminded myself to _breathe_.

So, when Bette slid her hand in my lap, inching her way up my leg, halting at the apex of my thighs, seducing me, luring me, _teasing _me, I had already become so aroused that my legs involuntarily parted and my hips rose to meet her. She pulled at the button of my jeans, freeing it, and then tugged on the zipper. Mindful of the people around us, I covered her hands with mine, and she paused, glancing sideways at me. I met her gaze, my eyes misty and confused, hers aroused and determined. She smiled, her lips parting, her eyes ablaze with desire. For me, I could see it, could see her _want_, her hunger, _for me_, and I slowly replaced her hand with mine, lowered the zipper and then guiding her fingers beneath the soft cotton of my bikini underwear.

I was wet, so wet, and ready, wanting, on fire, and she knew _just_ what to do, _just_ how to touch me, how to elicit an urgent response, to send thousands of tiny shivers down my spine, goose bumps over my flesh, a halting labored breath, wordless whispers from my lips. I was rising, spiraling, currents of pleasure coursing through me, a storm gathering in my body as her fingers circled my hardened pearl, over and over, building speed, increasing pressure, until, in a flurry, I felt myself rise and then _crash_ against her hand, whimpering and helpless, sweet aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me again and again.

She withdrew her hand and I watched with hooded eyes as she slowly slipped her fingers into her mouth, sucking the remnants of _me _from them, her eyes playful and seductive in the intermittent light of the movie screen. I closed the zipper and button of my jeans and crossed my legs, relishing the pressure as it calmed my still throbbing sex. She reached for my hand, entwining our fingers and bringing them to her mouth, she kissed the back of my hand before dropping them to her lap, where they rested until the movie was over.

As the credits rolled, the house lights turning up, Alice turned to look at us, a knowing smile spreading across her lips. "Did you two enjoy the film?"

I blushed. Her smile broadened.

"Yes, we did," Bette replied, linking her arm with mine as we made our way to the aisle.

Alice rolled her eyes, looked me up and down, and then shook her head as she turned her gaze to Bette. "You're so predictable."

Bette stopped, vertical lines forming between her narrowed eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Lakmé? The Flower Duet?"

"Alice, God." Bette grabbed my hand and we continued up the aisle.

"I'm just razzing you, Bette," Alice joked, poking Bette in the back. "But, seriously, you should learn some new moves."

Shit. She'd done this before. With Alice. I shouldn't have been so surprised. I knew Bette had a colorful past, an adventurous past, I just hadn't expected that past to be sitting in the row in front of us, while we were acting out one of its hallmark _routines_. My cheeks grew hot and I suddenly felt unsure about us, Bette and me, I felt embarrassed and _young. _

When we spilled out onto the street, all of us blinking against the bright afternoon light, Bette hugged her friends, made plans to see them at a local coffee shop the next afternoon, and then guided us to the parking garage. We walked to her car and got in without a word passing between us. She inserted the key into the ignition, but didn't turn it. Instead, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"Kate," she started, turning to look at me. "I'm sorry about that," she shook her head. "I shouldn't have…" I could see a look of regret skitter across her face, darkening her eyes as she gazed at me. "I should have kept my hands to myself."

I shook my head, patting the back of her hand as it lay on the gearshift between us. "I liked it," I reassured her. "I kind of wish your _ex_ hadn't been sitting in front of us paying attention to what we were doing, but, I still liked it."

Bette smiled, reaching out to caress my cheek. "Alice still holds some bitter feelings about how our, um, relationship ended."

"That seemed kind of obvious," I replied, chuckling. "How long were you two together?"

Bette turned to look out the front of the windshield, starting the ignition. "It was short."

"How short?"

"Three weeks."

"Why'd it end?"

Bette turned to look at me, a flicker of _something_ in her eyes. "It's complicated."

I could tell when I was being shut out, so I sat back, clicking into my seat belt as she eased the car out of its space. There was a piece of music that had been in a loop in my head ever since we'd left the theater, and I couldn't figure out where it was from. And then, as though someone had opened my brain and dropped the information in, it came to me.

It was The Flower Duet.

"Huh," I said, not realizing I'd said it out loud until Bette turned to me.

"What?" She asked.

I shooed away the panic rising in my belly, the uneasy feeling ascending my throat like bile. Ignoring it completely, I glanced at her and replied, "Nothing."


End file.
